


The Sultan of Morocco

by MellowMild



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Domestic Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowMild/pseuds/MellowMild
Summary: Follow-up to The Trojan Horse and An Adventure. Raquel witnesses an event that persuades the Professor to plan another heist and get the gang back together. But this one will be different - this time only one person will enter the target undercover to gather the information they need to pull it off. When Lisbon proves to be the best person for the job, neither Raquel nor Sergio is fully prepared for the impact it will have on them or their relationship. For Raquel it threatens to open old wounds, whilst Sergio struggles to remain objective when she finds herself in danger.
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 87
Kudos: 217





	1. Snatched

_“Mariam lay on the couch, hands tucked between her knees, watched the whirlpool of snow twisting and spinning outside the window. She remembered Nana saying once that each snowflake was a sigh heaved by an aggrieved woman somewhere in the world. That all the sighs drifted up into the sky, gathered into clouds, then broke into tiny pieces that fell silently on the people below. As a reminder of how women like us suffer, she’d said. How quietly we endure all that falls upon us.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns_ **

**Chapter 1: Snatched**

_“It is a heart-breaking sound, Amir Jan, the wailing of a mother. I pray to Allah you never hear it.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner_ **

**One year and six months after second heist**

_18 days before Zero Hour  
__Palawan  
_Raquel flexed her shoulders to get rid of some of the strain and immediately Sergio said, “Hold it still, please.”  
She rolled her eyes; she had barely moved. And it was only a canoe, for crying out loud. It’s not as if they were building a spacecraft or anything. “Sorry.”  
Paula’s birthday was coming up, and they were putting together her present. Ever since they had come to Palawan, the younger Murillo had shown a great affinity for the water and loved nothing more than going out on the boat and snorkelling among the colourful corals and fish. So they had decided to get her her very own canoe. It had arrived a couple of days ago, and they were replacing a section of the bottom with Perspex so that she could see what was beneath her. It was Raquel’s job to keep the boat from moving whilst he carefully inserted the Perspex and sealed the edges, and she felt like she had been at it for hours. That wasn’t true, of course, but it was taking rather a long time as Mr Perfection measured and adjusted and planed until it fit just right.  
“I have to fetch Paula from school soon,” she remarked, hoping for an early reprieve, and he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at his watch.  
“You have ten more minutes.” She sighed and he glanced up at her, well aware that his perfectionist tendencies sometimes got on her nerves. But she was smiling.  
“She’s going to love it,” she predicted, and he found himself grinning back. He really hoped so. Nothing mattered more than seeing his girls happy. All of them.

_Twenty minutes later  
_As Raquel waited across the road from the school gate, her gaze wandered over the other parents. Looking for anyone that did not fit. She couldn’t help it; the police training was ingrained in her and she would probably never lose it. That was not necessarily a bad thing; they were, after all, fugitives, and even though the authorities thought they were dead, it was better to remain vigilant, to err on the side of caution. As the gates opened and kids began to stream out, she noticed the car. Most parents were on foot or, like her, on a scooter, so the car stood out. She kept one eye on it whilst looking for Paula, and spotted her daughter coming out, laughing with Narina, her best friend. Paula saw her mother and said goodbye to her friend with a cheerful wave before trotting over.  
“Hi sweetheart,” Raquel greeted as she handed over the spare helmet, “how was your day?”  
Paula launched into a detailed account, but her mother was only half-listening. The car had pulled into the road and was heading in their direction. It had three men inside, which was certainly odd for picking up a child from school. She felt the first tendril of fear, but the men were not looking at them. They were focussed on… She followed their eyeline and her gaze fell on Narina, Paula’s friend. Raquel searched for the girl’s mother but could not see her.  
“Paula.”  
The urgency in her mother’s voice made Paula shut up immediately.  
“Did Narina say anything about someone else picking her up today?”  
Paula frowned, confused, and shook her head as she turned to where her friend was standing, looking around for her mother. The car gunned its engine and shot forward, and then everything happened very fast.

“Don’t move!” Raquel yelled at Paula and began running toward the other girl. Her hand felt instinctively for the gun under her left arm, but there was nothing there. She wasn’t a police officer any more, and she didn’t carry a gun. _Shit_.  
“Narina!” she called, and the girl turned towards her in surprise. “Narina, come to me. Now,” she ordered, but the girl never got a chance to react. The car drew up between her and Raquel and the man in the passenger seat jumped out and grabbed her.  
“Hey! Let her go, you bastard!” Raquel shouted, but he ignored her. Narina screamed as he picked her up and bundled her into the backseat, and the tyres squealed as the car sped off, nearly knocking Raquel over in the process. She dived out of the way, landing hard on her shoulder, and could only watch as the car disappeared around the corner.

_17 days before Zero Hour  
_Raquel looked at Paula worriedly. She was sitting on the porch step, listlessly scratching in the sand with a stick. Once the car had sped off with Narina the day before, Raquel had got out of there as quickly as she could, knowing that one of the other parents would call the police. She could not afford to draw attention to herself. But as soon as they had got home, she had informed Sergio what had happened. “Will you contact your tame policeman? Find out what they know? Please?” she had implored, and he had taken one look at Paula’s tear-streaked face and nodded. There was a knock on the door and she turned and caught Sergio’s eye, who rose and went to answer. He came back, followed by a man in civilian clothes, but Raquel knew he was a Colonel in the Philippine police. He was on the Professor’s payroll, mostly to warn them whenever there was any law enforcement interest in them, but now they needed him for a different reason.

“There’s no trace of the girl,” he informed them, not sugar-coating the news. There was no point. “We found the car abandoned not far from the school.” He looked at Raquel apologetically. “She’s probably off the island by now.”  
Sergio looked away, but she saw the flash of anger that crossed his face. He was a parent himself, now, and felt the injustice almost as strongly as she did.  
“What about her mother?” she asked the policeman, and he sighed.  
“We found her in her house, beaten up and bound to a chair. She’s at the clinic.”  
“Did you get anything from her?”  
He shook his head. “She says she didn’t recognise any of them, and she has no idea who would want to take her daughter.”  
“So what now?” Raquel demanded, and Sergio laid a calming hand on her arm.  
“We’ll keep looking. But we think this is about money, and that someone will call soon to demand a ransom. There’s not much we can do until that call is made.”  
Raquel stared at him in disbelief, but as soon as she opened her mouth Sergio’s grip tightened and he gave her a warning look, and she bit back her angry retort.

She paced the floor whilst he showed the man out, and as soon as he returned she said, “Sergio,” but he held up both hands.  
“I know, Raquel.” When she looked unconvinced, he reiterated, “I _know_.”  
“So we’re just going to do nothing?” she demanded, and he came forward and took her hands in his.  
“We’re not doing nothing. I have all my people on it, trying to track how they might have got her off the island.” She took a breath and looked towards Paula, and he drew her into a hug. “We’re not doing nothing,” he repeated into her hair, but he fully understood her helplessness. _If it were Paula_… “Why don’t you try again to get her to eat something? I’ll contact our hackers, see if they have anything for us.”  
Raquel nodded and squeezed his hands, grateful for the support. She knew he was doing everything he could.

She went outside and sat down next to her daughter. When Paula did not acknowledge her presence she said, “Hey, baby. How are you?”  
The stick dug into the sand a little deeper. “What will they do to Narina? Those men?” she asked, and Raquel closed her eyes. It did not bear thinking about.  
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”  
Paula looked up at her mother then. “If you were still with the police, you could save her, Mama.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Who’s going to do it now?”  
“Oh, Paula,” Raquel said, her heart breaking, and gathered her daughter into her arms. “Sergio has all his people working on it. We’ll do everything we can. I promise you.” But even as she uttered the words she was filled with despair. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, and she knew the chances of finding the girl was slim to none. They needed information, an idea of where to begin their search, or they had no chance. The only person who could give them that information was Narina’s mother, and Raquel made a decision. She would go and see her. Perhaps, woman to woman, she might get something out of her.

_Two hours later  
__Clinic  
_Raquel made very sure that there was no police presence around the clinic before she slipped in via a side-door and made her way to the few rooms the clinic had. Narina’s mother was in the third one, and thankfully the other two beds in the room were empty. Raquel glanced up and down the corridor but no-one was paying any attention to her, and stepped inside. She moved over soundlessly and observed the patient, noting her black eye, swollen lip and the angry bruises around her forearms. There was something uncomfortably familiar to the pattern of these bruises, and she repressed a shudder. _She was rid of him, he would never hurt her again_.  
“Maria.” She kept her voice down, careful not to startle Narina’s mother, but even so the woman started badly and jerked her head towards Raquel. Relief flashed across her face when she recognised her visitor, and Raquel stepped forward and perched on the visitor’s chair. “I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely, clasping the other woman’s hand. The hand of a mother whose child had been taken. It broke her heart. “If there’s anything we can do – anything you need?”  
Tears welled in Maria’s eyes and Raquel knew instinctively what was going through her mind: _The only thing I need is for someone to return my child to me_.

It strengthened Raquel’s determination and she reached into her pocket, took out a pencil, and tied up her hair. Her eyes went back to the bruises on Maria’s arms and from this close she could easily distinguish the individual finger marks. She reached out and barely touched one of them. “Who did this to you?” she asked softly, but Maria simply shook her head.  
“I didn’t recognise them,” she claimed, but Raquel knew better. Now that she had seen the injuries she knew with a sickening certainty what had happened.  
Maria.” She waited until the woman’s frightened eyes met hers once again. “We want to help, my husband and I. We have some… experience with such matters, and I think we can find your daughter and bring her back. But we need to know where to start looking.” That was the best she could do – she was not about to confess that her husband was a criminal mastermind with almost unlimited resources, and that she had more than fifteen years’ experience as a police officer to bring to the table. So she added, hoping the emotional angle would work, “Narina is Paula’s best friend, and my daughter is inconsolable. And being a mother who almost lost her daughter myself, I have some idea of what you’re going through.”  
“What do you mean?” Maria asked, and Raquel felt a flash of relief. Good. She was at least beginning to engage.  
“I used to be in an abusive marriage.” God, it still hurt to say it. She smiled sadly at Maria. “He – Paula’s father – threatened to take her from me when I eventually scraped together the courage to leave him. He filed for sole custody, and so I fled the country with Paula before he could do so.” It was a risk, revealing so much, but she had an instinct about Maria. _It takes one to know one_, she thought bitterly, and Maria must have read that in her face, because she suddenly gripped Raquel’s hand hard.  
“So you’re hiding here? On Palawan?” she queried, and Raquel nodded.  
“Yes.”  
“And your new husband-“  
“Is a wonderful man who would never hurt me, or Paula,” she interjected, anxious to show this frightened woman that it was possible to break the cycle. Then she added carefully, “Maria. I’ve never seen Narina’s father, and she’s never mentioned him when she visits with us?”  
She waited, not wanting to push too far too soon, and when Maria turned her face away and stifled a sob, she knew that she was right. “He took her, didn’t he?” She clutched Maria’s hand, trying to give some comfort. “And he was the one who did this to you, wasn’t he?”

For the longest time the other woman did not respond, but simply sobbed in abject misery. Eventually she nodded, just once, and Raquel felt the anger rise up in her throat and choke off her air supply. She reached out and took the other woman by the chin, turning her head to meet her gaze. “Tell me where he is, Maria. Tell me, and I swear to you we will get Narina back.” She had to breathe hard before she could continue, before she could get her next words out. “And I give you my word that I will personally make sure that the bastard never comes near you or your daughter again.” _Even if I have to fucking kill him to do so_.  
Maria searched Raquel’s face long and hard, and she must have found what she was looking for, because she responded with only one word.  
“Morocco.”

_tbc_


	2. Nanny

_“It’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner_ **

_17 days before Zero Hour  
_“Narina’s father took her. He lives in Morocco. Maria grew up in the Spanish enclave of Ceuta there and met the man, Hassan Benharbit, at a political rally. He’s Moroccan royalty and extremely wealthy.”  
Sergio watched Raquel intently as she related the information she had obtained. She moved around restlessly, taut with tension. _Why was she so invested in this_? But he didn’t interrupt; she would get to the crux of the matter soon enough. She always did.  
Raquel stopped moving and turned to face him. “He abused her, and eventually she fled here with her daughter.”  
_Oh_. It was an eerily familiar tale and now he got it – why Raquel was so worked up. She stared at him expectantly and he somehow knew that this was a defining moment for them; if he refused to try and get the girl back, he would be forever diminished in his wife’s eyes. And that was an unbearable thought. But just as importantly it would diminish him in his own eyes, so there was only one answer. “Right. Then we’re going to Morocco,” he said, and her face flooded with relief. “You have to talk to Maria again,” he continued. “I need to know as much as possible about this man and the place where he’s likely to keep his daughter. I’ll set the hackers onto him as well.”

Raquel nodded determinedly, already moving toward the door. He caught her arm as she passed him.   
“Raquel.” She stopped at the tenderness in his voice. “Are you all right?”  
Her knee-jerk reaction was to nod and say, “I’m fine,” but the compassion in his gaze was her undoing. She shook her head. “No, not really,” she confessed, and her drew her into his arms. Raquel clung to him, banishing the memories that were threatening to overwhelm her by breathing in his scent, by pressing her body against his. _This was not Alberto_. It was Sergio, her rock, her salvation. She was safe, Paula was safe, and she never had to lay eyes on her abuser again. Her gratitude knew no bounds, and she lifted her face to his and kissed him. “Thank you, Sergio.”

For the next three days they gathered all the information they could about Hassan Benharbit, aided and abetted by the team of Pakistani hackers that had assisted them during the second heist. Raquel spent hours with Maria, painstakingly drawing out every possible snippet of information she possessed about her husband and his properties. As she and Sergio gathered around the table on that third night, they both sensed that a plan was beginning to take shape.  
“Hassan Benharbit,” Sergio said as he pinned a picture of the man against the wall. “Younger cousin of King Mohammed VI. He’s heavily involved in the King’s business empire, especially the mining interests, and there are lots of rumours about extensive corruption, in which he’s also involved. We’ve been able to confirm assets worth a billion Euros, but he’s likely to be worth at least twice that if the rumours about the corruption is true.”  
Raquel stared at the image. Fifty-five years old, darkly handsome, beginning to run to fat. _Abuser. Violent_. “According to Maria, he has a house in Rabat where he stays during the week. But it’s more of an elaborate bachelor pad. His real household is in Marrakech, which is where Narina is likely to be. It’s a big compound and there’s strong security.”  
Sergio pasted an image of the compound next to the man’s photograph. It was from Google Earth, and was the best they could do for now. A search for building plans had revealed that there were no digital copies available; they would have to steal it from the paper archives in Morocco if they wanted it. Sergio wasn’t too keen on that plan; it was a big risk and would only serve to alert the man that someone was interested in him if discovered.

“We’ll need a base to operate from, preferably somewhere close to the compound,” she said and Sergio smiled.  
“Already in progress.” She lifted a questioning eyebrow. “I’ve sent Marseille to Morocco. He arrived yesterday, so I expect to hear from him soon.”  
“Marseille?” she repeated, surprised, and he nodded, now serious.  
“We need help with this one, Raquel. As soon as we have a base, I’m going to ask the gang to get back together.”  
Raquel considered that, chewing her lip. “I don’t know. Can we really expect them to risk their anonymity - their lives, even, for something that has nothing to do with them? I mean, what’s in it for them?”  
“Funny you should ask,” he responded, grinning. “As I’ve already said, Mr Benharbit is a billionaire. Apparently, he has a rather large diamond collection.”  
Raquel’s mouth quirked. “Oh, does he?”  
Sergio nodded, eyes twinkling.  
“So we will disguise the whole thing as a robbery,” she stated, liking the idea, and Sergio affirmed it with another nod. That’s what they were good at, so that was what they would do. They would stage a robbery, not only for the diamonds, but also for Narina.

Bit by bit the plan was coming together, but there was still one part that bothered her. “If we manage to snatch Narina back, how are we going to prevent the bastard from coming after her again?” she mused. She had been worrying at this ever since she had learned that the girl had been taken by her father, and thus far she had not come up with any answer. But when she looked at Sergio he had an enigmatic smile on his face.  
“I think I have found the solution to that.” She waited, knowing that he would not be able to keep it to himself, knowing how much he loved to impress her with his clever plans. And he duly continued. “It revolves around the Sultan of Morocco,” he declared triumphantly.  
She frowned, confused. “Who’s that?”  
His smile widened. “Not who. _What._”

_13 days before Zero Hour  
_When Raquel returned from dropping a subdued Paula off at school, she found Sergio positioned before the planning wall, staring intently at the picture of Hassan Benharbit. She moved up next to him to see that he had added a piece of paper that simply stated ‘NANNY’.  
“Marseille has found a place,” he informed her. “It has an excellent location – it’s on a hill overlooking the Hassan compound.”  
“Good. And that?” she pointed her chin at the piece of paper, and he pushed his glasses up his nose.  
“That might be our way in,” he explained. “Marseille reports that Hassan has put out word that he is looking for a Spanish speaking nanny.” He turned his head towards her. “That can only be for Narina.”  
Almost immediately she felt the spark of excitement ignite in her stomach. _Yes_. This was the break they had been looking for.  
“The hackers have already begun to build an electronic backstory for a nanny, and Marseille is working on getting us someone willing to vouch for that person – a reference, should Hassan wish to confirm anything.” Then he added, “I think Nairobi is the best candidate-“  
“No,” Raquel said immediately, and he turned to her.  
“You can’t possibly think that _Tokyo_ is a better option?” he exclaimed in astonishment, but it did not even raise a smile from her. She remained deadly serious.  
“No. Not Tokyo, either. It has to be me.”

There was a stunned silence. Then Sergio began to shake his head. “No,” he said, then reiterated more firmly, “_No_.”  
She looked at him steadily. “Why not?”  
“Because-“ He stopped short and she felt for him. She had an inkling what was going through his mind, but ‘because I love you’ was not a valid argument and he knew it. “Hassan is dangerous, Raquel,” he argued instead. “Those who dare to cross him either end up in jail or dead. And you might have to stay in his household for weeks before we could move.”  
_Dead, or beaten up like Maria_. Her stomach roiled in anger. “All the more reason for me to go,” she countered. “I’m a trained police officer, I can handle myself just as well – probably better – than the other women.” She caught his eye. “And you know that.”  
He closed his eyes, desperately casting around for a reason she couldn’t do it, and she continued to press her case. “Hassan is Muslim, and Maria said he runs his household strictly according to Islamic prescription. That is especially true for the women – they have no standing, and if they are not suitably submissive they are punished. Do you really think either Nairobi or Tokyo would be able to pull that off for weeks on end?”  
“You’re not submissive either,” he objected, and her expression softened. God, she loved him. “Not with you, because you allow me to be strong.” Then she added bitterly, “But I used to be – for a couple of years with my ex-husband, I was pretty fucking submissive. I know what it takes to pretend to be something totally against your nature, in order to protect yourself.” He had nothing to say to that, and she played her last card. “Besides, Narina knows me. She’ll listen to me. She may not trust anyone else, and that could wreck the whole plan.”

Sergio turned away; he knew, deep down, that she was right, that she was by far the best option. But he was afraid of what it would do to her. Would living under the same roof as an abuser bring back all those unpleasant memories? Would it undermine everything she had overcome through therapy? Would it mean that she would once again lose her trust in men, and in him in particular? He sank down on the couch and stared at the floor, uncertain what to do. Should he follow his head, which was telling him Raquel was the best bet to infiltrate the Hassan household, or should he follow his heart, which was screaming at him to shield her from this particular ordeal? He felt cool hands on his cheeks as she lifted his head.  
“Hey,” she murmured, her thumbs tracing over his skin affectionately, “I know you’re trying to protect me. But I can handle this. I’m not the same person I was back then, with Alberto. I am much stronger now, partly because of you. I know my own worth, and I will never let a man take that from me again.” When he continued to look unconvinced, she compromised. “How about I promise you that I will get out if it becomes too much?”  
He reached up to take one of her hands and kissed the palm. “You make that promise?” he double-checked, and she nodded solemnly.  
“Yes. I promise you.”  
Oh, God, this was a terrible idea, but he knew that her mind was made up. And he had no right to decide for her what she could and could not handle, so he caved in. “All right. You’re our nanny.”

She leant down and kissed him, and her hair fell around them as he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. He pulled her down onto his lap and she came willingly, both of them needing the intimacy. To silence the doubts, to take the edge off the fear curling around their hearts. Her hands slid into his hair as she pulled back a little and whispered against his lips, “I love you, whatever happens in the next few weeks. Don’t you ever forget that,” and he crushed her to him in response. Trying to imbue her with his strength, with his love.  
“And I will be right there with you in Marrakech, just up the hill. Don’t _you_ ever forget _that_.” He gripped her head and forced her to look at him. “You won’t ever be alone, Raquel. I will be _right there_.”  
Tears sprang to her eyes and she nodded, and then she kissed him again, sealing the vow they had both made.

They left for Morocco the next day, and this time Raquel found it extremely difficult to say goodbye to Paula. It was all too close to home, and the thought that she might never see her little girl again almost overwhelmed her. But then she remembered the anguish of Maria, and Narina at the mercy of a violent man, and knew she could not turn away. And of course there was Paula, who had looked at her mother and Sergio with such hope in her eyes and said, “You’ll save her, won’t you?” and that stiffened her resolve.  
Yes, they would save her, or die trying.

_tbc_


	3. Marrakech

_“Mariam wondered how so many women could suffer the same miserable luck, to have married, all of them, such dreadful men.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed_ **

_12 days before Zero Hour  
__Marrakech, Morocco  
_Raquel stared out of the window as the chartered jet came in over the Pink City to touch down at a private airstrip on the outskirts. Sergio had assured her that their arrival would draw no undue attention, as a lot of celebrities made use of private jets and that landing strip to visit the famous city. The red dunes of the Sahara shimmered in the heat on the horizon, reminding her in no uncertain terms that she was now in a foreign land, and one that could be unforgiving and deadly. She reached for Sergio’s hand and he lifted worried eyes to her, so she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Marseille waited for them as they touched down, leaning against a dusty white Land Rover, and she almost did not recognise him. He had grown a beard and was dressed in a flowing _thawb_, blending in with the locals admirably. He shook Sergio’s hand and gave her a nod before helping to load their gear into the back. Once they were en route to the house he briefed them. “The girl is at the compound; I see her walking around the orchard sometimes. Physically she seems fine.” Raquel sighed in relief, even though she knew better than most that there could be emotional scars that could be much worse than the ones that could be seen. “Hassan will come in from Rabat the day after tomorrow, and wants to interview our nanny then.” His eyes briefly met Raquel’s in the mirror and she swallowed. “I have lined up two references who will vouch for you, and they’ll come in tomorrow to meet with you.”  
“Good work, Marseille,” Sergio said. “Any news of the others?”  
“They’ll start filtering in from early morning.”  
Raquel listened in silence, and was grateful that for the first night it would only be the three of them. Marseille was not the most sociable of men and there would be time alone for her and Sergio. For now that she was here and the prospect of being separated from him for weeks were becoming real, she suddenly craved his presence even more than usual.

Marseille’s voice broke into her thoughts once more. “This is Hassan’s compound coming up on the left.” He cruised by slowly and she noted the high walls, the solid iron gate, and the two uniformed men standing each side of it.  
“Private security?” she asked, and Marseille shook his head.  
“Army. As a member of the Royal Family he receives a VIP protection detail.”  
They began to climb and soon after the car turned through a gate into a smaller compound. The house was built in the local style, with two floors and an enclosed courtyard in the middle. It was neglected but clean, and Marseille led them to the master bedroom on the first floor and left them to settle in. Raquel opened the wardrobe and to her surprise saw a couple of _hijabs_ and some long dresses hanging there. They were in her size and actually quite tasteful, and she smiled. Marseille obviously had hidden depths.

After dinner they retired early, aware that the next couple of weeks would take their toll and that they needed all the rest they could get. But Raquel remained restless and after taking a bath she stepped out onto the small balcony of their room, and gazed down at the lights of the Hassan compound. Poor Narina was in there somewhere, afraid and missing her mother. The thought made her heart clench. What was wrong with some men? What made them so angry, so quick to inflict hurt on the women in their lives? It was a question she had asked herself so many times during the hellish years she had been caught up in it, and she still did not have the answer. The _Isha’a_ rang out over the city and she listened uncomfortably. In her current state of mind it sounded eerie and unsettling, even though she knew perfectly well that Hassan was the exception; that the overwhelming majority of Muslim men were not violent and abusive. Just like Alberto had been the exception among men in Christian society; most were decent whether they were religious or not. There was movement behind her and one of the most decent among them stepped out on the balcony next to her. _Sergio_. The gentlest of men (well, where she was concerned, at least), the love of her life, and she was filled with warmth in an instant.

He was shirtless and she watched the muscles play under his skin as he rested his elbows on the railing and leant forward. The breeze ruffled his hair and she was overcome by her love for him. In that moment, under the expanse of the African sky, with the _mullahs_ calling the faithful to their duty, her body somehow felt too small to contain her feelings for him. He was her religion, her salvation, and she wanted to crawl into his skin and lay down her offering next to his heart. She reached for him, and as soon as she touched him he spun round and gathered her in his arms. They kissed fervently, and her last coherent thought before they stumbled to the bed, mouths still locked together, was: _How am I going to survive without this for weeks on end?_ She pulled the camisole over her head and pressed against him, enjoying the sensation of his chest hair rubbing against her nipples as she went back to kissing him. Her hands reached for the waistband of his pants and he groaned into the kiss as she brushed against his erection in her haste to get it down his hips. He kicked them off and laid her down on the bed before pulling off her panties, then took a moment to gaze down at her. His heated eyes devoured her from head to toe and she had never felt more desired, and that only increased when he vowed in a voice rough with want, “Tonight I’m going to give you some memories to take with you for the next few weeks. To remember me by.”  
She shivered; there was nothing she wanted more. So she said, “Please,” and closed her eyes as he knelt down and lifted her legs over his shoulders.

_11 days before Zero Hour  
_Denver and Monica were the first to arrive the next morning, and the rest came in during the course of the day. Meanwhile, Raquel met with her two references and worked through her legend with them. Both were intelligent, mature women and she felt much more confident after talking to them. If Hassan or any of his people called on these women, they would stick to the script. She also got the impression that neither of them liked the man much, and that was confirmed when one of them lingered behind after the meeting and looked at her with concern. “Be careful,” she said in a low voice, as though she was worried that the walls could be listening, “he is not a good man.”  
Raquel nodded, disturbed even though she already knew that, but the woman was not finished. She gripped Raquel’s arm.  
“He thinks all the women who work in his household belong to him. Do you understand? He doesn’t care if they are married to another man.”  
The message was clear – Hassan believed he had the right to sleep with any woman in his household. Raquel’s stomach convulsed and she had to swallow hard before she could reply.  
“I understand. Thank you for the warning.”  
When she joined Sergio in the classroom he had set up a few minutes later, he smiled at her. “Anything useful or important come out of your meeting?” he asked, and she hesitated for a split second before she shook her head.  
If she told him what she had learnt, he would never allow her to go into that house.

_Evening  
_Nairobi and Helsinki were the last to arrive, and as soon as they had unpacked Sergio gathered everyone in the classroom. He had decided against including Palermo and Bogota – he had no need for a master welder on this project, and as for Palermo, it would not be a good idea to bring an outspoken gay man into a country where the laws were strongly based on the prescriptions of Islam.  
There were good-natured snickers as he wrote ‘Welcome, once more’ on the board, but this time he dispensed with spelling out the normal rules. Instead he said, “Thank you all for coming. First of all, as I’m sure you’re aware, we will be operating in a Muslim community. Whilst there are tourists and other westerners here that do not pay too much attention to that, we can’t afford to do the same. It will attract attention, and that is the last thing we want. In front of each of you is a sheet with dos and don’ts – study it carefully and make sure you adhere to it whenever you venture out of this compound.” He made sure to get nods of affirmation from the women in particular before continuing.  
“This operation is a bit different. If after I have explained what it is about any of you feel that you want to withdraw, you are free to do so.”  
He looked at Raquel and she gave him a small smile. He moved to the pin-up board and tapped a photo. “This is Hassan Benharbit, a cousin of King Mohammed VI. He is a very wealthy man.” That garnered a few smiles. “Of particular interest to us,” Sergio continued, “is his large diamond collection.”

Whilst there were some appreciative murmurs, there were also a few confused looks shared among the gang. The Professor had never before showed any interest in stealing something that belonged to a particular person, and they waited for the catch. Sergio did not delay. “Hassan Benharbit is also the father of this little girl,” he said and pointed at the photo next to Hassan’s. “Her name is Narina, and a few days ago he kidnapped her from the Philippines, where her mother lives, and brought her here. The real reason we are here is to steal her back and return her to her mother.”

Raquel watched the group intently and could immediately sense the sharpened interest from the other two mothers. Monica and Nairobi both sat forward in their seats and stared at the two photographs.  
“So we’re going to pretend to steal the diamonds, but instead we’re really going to steal the girl?” Nairobi queried, and Sergio rested one hip against the table and folded his arms.  
“We’re not going to _pretend_ to steal the diamonds.”  
Tokyo frowned. “So… we’re doing both?”  
“Yes.”  
“Hang on,” Denver interjected, “why are we getting involved in some domestic dispute? What has this got to do with us? And why are we taking the mother’s side? For all we know the child is better off with the father.” He was a father too, and because he would never take Cincinnati from his mother without a damn good reason, he found it difficult to understand that there were men in the world who were different.  
Before Sergio could respond, Raquel interjected. “Hassan physically abused Narina’s mother.” Her voice was tight with emotion and he glanced at her worriedly. “That is why she fled with her daughter – to save her from suffering the same fate.”

There was silence as everyone processed the information, and then Monica spoke up. “I’m in,” she said, and Denver looked at her in surprise. She had not even consulted with him before deciding.  
“Me too,” Nairobi said immediately, and Helsinki sighed. Where Nairobi went, so did he. It was the natural order of things.  
"In, Professor,” he declared succinctly, and Sergio nodded gratefully. He looked at Tokyo and she smirked.  
“Let’s rob the abusive motherfucker blind,” she declared, and Denver grinned and nodded his head.  
“Yea,” he agreed and took Monica’s hand when she smiled at him. All heads turned to Rio and he shrugged.  
“Sure, why not,” he said, and Raquel heaved a sigh of relief. They were going to do it.

“So are we going to follow the same routine?” Nairobi asked. “Get in there and take hostages?”  
The Professor pushed his glasses up his nose. “No. This one is going to be different. This time we will infiltrate only one person into the house to gather the information we need, while the rest of us will stay outside.”  
They looked at each other. “Who’s going in?” Tokyo asked, and Sergio turned to Raquel.  
“Lisbon.”

_Later that night  
_They made love again, slow and gentle, keeping as much contact between their bodies as possible whilst still being able to thrust together. It was as though they were trying to get inside each other’s skin, to imprint the other on each cell of their body. Sergio moved her hair behind her ear and traced his thumb down her cheek, following the movement with his eyes. And all the while he repressed the urge to beg her not to go. If things went well with her interview the next day, this was more than likely their last night together for a couple of weeks (he refused to entertain the thought that it might be the last, _period_, if things should go wrong), and he did not want to start an argument with her and ruin it. He knew that she was determined to go, and in the end it was her decision. He had no right to tell her what she could and could not do. And he trusted her; she had a better grasp than most of her abilities and limitations. She was the strongest person he knew, but he was also afraid. For her physical safety, yes, but more so for her psychological wellbeing. So in the end all he said was, “You’ll remember your promise? That you’ll get out if it becomes too much?”  
Her hands ran up his back and framed his face, and she smiled softly. “I remember. I’ll keep it.” And then she kissed him passionately, trying to drive the doubts from his mind, or who knows, perhaps from her own. Trying to make them both forget. But it only worked for a short while. Even as she fell into slumber, with his chest pressed to her back and his arms protectively around her, the knowledge glowed behind her closed eyelids and disturbed her sleep.

The next day she would step into the lion’s den.

_tbc_


	4. Interview

_“Not a word passes between us, not because we have nothing to say, but because we don’t have to say anything.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner_ **

_10 days before Zero Hour  
__Morning  
_Raquel stood in front of the mirror and regarded her image critically. Sergio had gone downstairs to speak to Rio about the transmitter she would wear and she was alone. Dressed in one of the long, loose dresses Marseille had procured, she stood with a _hijab_ in her hands and took a breath. Somehow, the act of putting it on, of covering her hair, felt like the step that would take her over the edge, from where there was no turning back. She thought of Paula, so trustful that her parents would save her friend, and gathered her hair together so that she could put on the garment. There really was no choice, and besides, like Sergio had reminded her, he would be right here, just up the hill. It would be fine.

When she entered the lounge the conversation dried up, and she knew it was because of her appearance. Her eyes met Sergio’s and she saw him clench his jaw, and finally understood how unhappy he truly was about this – about her going into Hassan’s household. They stared at each other wordlessly.  
_I’m sorry, but I have to do this.   
__I know. I understand. I hate it, but I understand.  
_Monica and Nairobi exchanged glances, aware of the weight of the moment, disturbed by the loss of independence that the clothes Lisbon was wearing presented for many women.  
It was Rio who broke the silence, oblivious to the tension that had settled on the room like a blanket. “Okay, Lisbon, here is the transmitter. It has a big enough range that we will be able to pick up the signal from this house.” He held up a tiny gadget as he spoke, grinning excitedly. “Luckily, in that get-up you’ll have lots of places to hide it.” He handed it over. “Why don’t you go into the next room then we’ll test it?”

She did so, and after some consideration attached it to her bra, between her breasts. Hopefully no-one in that house would ever have to see her in her underwear. _He thinks all the women who work in his household belongs to him. Do you understand?_ The reference woman’s words came to her unbidden and she hastily suppressed it.  
“My name is Lisbon, and I am a part of the Resistance,” she said out loud, then moved back into the lounge to find everyone grinning.  
“Loud and clear,” Rio confirmed and she nodded.  
Sergio glanced at his watch. “It’s time,” he announced and moved forward to take her hand. “Marseille will take you to the compound.”  
She leant against his shoulder as they made their way to the car, clutching his hand in a death grip. _It’ll be fine. It’s just an interview_. Perhaps it was the tension radiating from him that was making her so nervous.  
“Hey,” she said, tugging lightly on his hand to make him look at her. “I’ll be fine. Because you will be right up the hill.”  
That won her a smile. It was a tight one, but still. She would take what she could get. He handed her into the car with a nod and a final squeeze of her hand, and it pulled away and she lost sight of him as they swung through the gate.

She turned forward, tugging at the _hijab_. She was not used to having her hair covered, and she caught herself in the act of trying to run her hand through it every now and then, only to find a barrier there. It was a reminder, though, that the time for sentimentality was over. The time for fear was over. As of that minute, she was Rosa Martin (and yes, she had chosen that surname to remind her of him), a Spanish woman who had lived in Morocco for the last three years, working as a nanny. She was a former Spanish teacher, and she was a divorcee who had come to Morocco after her marriage crumbled. She was not a devout Muslim, but she respected its prescriptions and abided by it, especially if the household she was working in required it. It had been a risk to make Rosa a non-Muslim, but it would explain any slip-ups she might make. Besides, she had an inkling that it might appeal to Hassan – though he expected his household to strictly follow the Islamic prescriptions, he himself was hardly a paragon of virtue. Sergio had agreed, so they had taken the gamble to work that into her legend. Marseille drew up to the big gate of the Hassan compound and she took a deep, steadying breath. She blocked all thought apart from the present from her mind and reached for the door handle. She was ready.  
“I’ll wait here,” Marseille informed her and she nodded, then stepped out of the car.  
_I am Rosa Martin, nanny. I am not afraid.  
_One of the security guards stepped forward and she handed over the invitation for an interview, careful not to make eye contact. He read it and rapped on the gate, and it swung open immediately. They were expecting her. She stepped through and heard it clang shut again behind her, and had to restrain herself from jumping at the sound.

Another guard received her with a curt nod and led the way up to the house, and she looked around curiously. The garden was big and well-kept, and her thoughts went back to their discussion of the plan the previous day.  
_“Hassan uses a gardening company to maintain the compound,” Sergio informed them. “We have managed to get one of you onto the gardening team.”  
__He looked at Denver, who balked. “Me?” he grumbled. “Why do I always have to do the manual labour?”  
__“Because you’re so big and strong,” Monica soothed, eyes twinkling, and he grinned, pacified.  
__“Well yes, that is true.”  
_The guard took her through the open courtyard around which the house was built and into a room at the other side, ringed with plush mats and a few couches. It looked like some sort of meeting room, perhaps where the men of the house gathered to smoke, from the smell of it.  
“Wait,” he told her, before marching out.

Two other women, younger and of Moroccan origin, sat demurely on one of the couches. This must be her competition, and she gave them a quick once-over. One was rather plain, and sat staring at her shoes that peeked out from her ankle-length dress. They were old and scuffed. The girl looked like her spirit had already been broken and Raquel felt a stab of sympathy, wondering what had happened to her. The other was quite pretty and met her with a frank stare, which she quickly dropped when an older woman entered the room. She adopted a meek expression and Raquel lifted an eyebrow; that one was quite the duplicitous little pretender. Raquel did not bother with pretence; she looked at the older woman steadily. “I’m Rosa Martin,” she said, holding out her invitation. The woman took it without looking at it and stuffed it into a pocket. She had an air of authority about her, and Raquel guessed that she acted as the head of this household whenever Hassan was away. But whether she was family or merely an employee she couldn’t tell.  
“My name is Jamima,” she announced in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “It is my responsibility to select the best woman for the job. I have looked at your resumés and am satisfied that all of you have the necessary skills and experience to fulfil the role.” Her gaze swept across them and settled briefly on Raquel, before moving on. “Today I want to observe each of you interacting with the girl.” Raquel’s heart-rate sped up; she hoped to God Narina didn’t show obvious recognition when she entered the room – she would have to try and signal her somehow and hope that the girl kept a level head. Jamima was speaking again. “I have to warn you that she is rather uncommunicative. She will probably show little reaction to anything you say.” With that disheartening news she clapped her hands together. “Shall we see how you get on?”

The plain girl was up first, and Raquel took a seat across from the pretty one as they waited. She did not say anything, and watched with some amusement as her companion began to squirm under the strain of the silence. Probably used to people fawning over her because of her looks. The plain girl came out barely five minutes later, tears simmering in her eyes, from which Raquel surmised that it had not gone well. The pretty woman was up next and Raquel sat back to wait. She lasted ten minutes before she also came out, looking befuddled. Jamima appeared in the door and waved Raquel forward. She followed Jamima into the room and saw Narina huddled on a chair, listlessly staring out the window, and her heart broke for the girl. She looked miserable and sad, and didn’t even bother to turn around as they entered.  
“Narina, this is Rosa,” Jamima announced, and when there was no reaction she added sharply, “don’t display those bad manners your mother taught you here, child. Show the visitor respect.”

The girl looked up at that, a flash of rebellion crossing her face, and Raquel lifted her hand to supposedly stifle a cough, and when Narina looked in her direction she lifted her forefinger out of her fist once before her lips, before dropping her hand again. The girl’s eyes widened momentarily but she quickly turned her head away, hiding her expression from them.  
“It’s okay,” Raquel said, ignoring the annoyed look that garnered from Jamima, “some days I don’t feel like talking to anyone either.” She stepped past the older woman and unceremoniously lifted her dress to plonk herself down on the floor cross-legged in front of Narina. “Do you know what I do when I have to have a serious talk with someone?” she asked, and Narina simply stared at her with wide eyes, uncertain how to respond. Raquel smiled encouragingly and took off the _hijab_, and heard Jamima draw in an affronted breath. She took out a pencil and tied up her hair, then grinned. “I do _that_, and then I feel like I can think clearly.”  
Narina smiled in delight. “Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked, and from the corner of her eye Raquel saw the stunned look on Jamima’s face. Clearly she was the first to coax any response out of the girl.  
“Of course I can,” she responded, never taking her eyes off Narina, trying to reassure her through eye contact. _I’m here, you’re not alone, everything will be okay._ But before she could say anything further, Jamima stepped forward.  
“How dare you bare your head! Put the _hijab_ back on immediately, and leave this house.”  
Raquel turned to her and regarded the woman steadily. “There are no men present. Who exactly am I offending?”  
Jamima’s eyes jumped to a doorway that was curtained off, and right on cue a man stepped through it.  
“Oh, but there is a man present,” he announced, and she felt a rush of adrenaline shoot into her bloodstream.  
_Hassan_.

Raquel was careful to keep her expression neutral. She unhurriedly began to put the _hijab_ back on. “Then I apologise. I was not aware that someone was skulking on the other side of the curtain.” She looked at him once, just to show him that she was not intimidated, and then dropped her gaze back to Narina. The fear in the girl’s eyes was unmistakable and Raquel had to restrain herself from gathering her into a hug.  
“She is not fit for the position,” Jamima practically screeched. “She is insolent and disrespectful-“  
“I want her to stay.” The room was stunned into silence and every eye turned towards Narina, who seemed just as surprised that she had said the words out loud. But even so she lifted her chin defiantly as she looked at her father and added, “Please, Papa.”  
Hassan’s gaze lingered on Raquel, _interested_, and she suppressed a shudder of revulsion. Then he nodded once at Jamima and instructed, “Set her up in the room next to Narina,” before turning on his heel and disappearing through the curtain again.

Raquel heaved an inward sigh of relief. _She was in_. But the interest in Hassan’s eyes remained with her and she couldn’t help but wonder: at what cost?

_tbc_


	5. Complication

_“She said, ‘I’m so afraid.’ And I said, ‘Why?’ and she said, ‘Because I’m so profoundly happy, Dr Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.’ I asked her why and she said, ‘They only let you be this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you.’”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner_ **

_10 days before Zero Hour  
__Half an hour later  
__Safe house  
_Raquel packed her things whilst Sergio sat on the foot of the bed and watched. She would return to the Hassan compound that afternoon and this was the last minutes she would spend with him for God knew how long. It was a horrible thought. She knew she would miss him terribly. He had become an almost-constant presence in her life these last few years, and whenever they were separated she found that she craved his presence, his touch, constantly. She shot him a furtive glance and saw him looking at a burgundy set of underwear she had just packed, and immediately knew what he was thinking. The last time she had worn that, they had ended up shagging each other on the couch like randy teenagers, his mouth hot on her breast, sucking at her through the satin barrier. His gaze rose to meet hers, and the heat and worry and desperation in it went straight to her heart. She unceremoniously dropped the garment in her hands and went over to him, and bent down to kiss him.

His lips were urgent on hers, his tongue demanding, as though he was trying to claim her once more. But there was no need. She was his, irrevocably and for as long as she lived, and only death would tear them apart. And suddenly she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her. She pulled back a fraction to whisper, “I want-“ but he didn’t let her finish. He fused their lips back together as his hands gathered up her long dress until he could get to her underwear and pull it down her legs. At the same time she worked loose his belt and pants and freed his cock so that she could straddle him. When she sank down on him tears sprang to her eyes and she buried her face in his neck so that he would not see, and they kept still for a minute or so, not moving, simply memorising the feeling of his length enveloped in her wet heat. Once she had her emotions back under control she lifted her head and locked her gaze with his, and then they started to move. It was fast and urgent, and he let her take what she needed without any concern for his own gratification, but he came shortly after her all the same, and on some base level it gave him great satisfaction to know that she would go into the Hassan household with something of him still inside her.

She clung to him for a while in the aftermath, and it took everything he had not to summarily shut down the heist and whisk her back home. He had promised Paula – they both had – but more importantly, there was a young girl’s safety at stake. There was no turning back. So he would let her go, but he would work unceasingly to safeguard her. He would make sure that there were contingencies in place – yes, more than one; he would plan a thousand of them if that was what it took – to get her and Narina out of that compound. Gradually he felt her straighten her spine as she stiffened her resolve, and at last she pulled away to look him in the eye, back to her normal self. Quietly confident, capable, amazing.  
“Time to go,” she told him and he nodded wordlessly, knowing that she would take his heart with her out that door.  
“You wear that transmitter at all times. Then I’ll know if you’re in trouble and can send help. Please, Raquel,” he implored, and she could not deny him.  
She nodded in agreement.

_One hour later  
_She found herself standing before the big iron gate once more, this time knowing she might only pass through it again in a week or two’s time. She had no idea how much freedom of movement she would be allowed; some Muslim men did not allow the women to go out unaccompanied at all. And she was pretty sure that Jamima was going to make life as difficult as possible for her, so any approval to leave the compound would have to come from Hassan himself. As a result she might only see the outside of these gates again once they had completed the robbery. Everything would depend on how soon she could gather the information the Professor required to pull off the diamond heist. The gate slammed closed behind her and this time she did jump involuntarily, before she purposely pushed her fear and apprehension aside. It was time to focus, to step into Rosa’s shoes. She would have to keep her fear and doubts for the evenings, once she was alone in her room.

Jamima waited for her on the doorstep, a forbidding presence dressed in black from head to toe, and Raquel could not help but feel sorry for Narina, who had probably had this woman for companionship until now. No wonder she looked so terribly unhappy. Well, Rosa was here now, and she would do her best to cheer the girl up. She nodded at Jamima, who eyed her small bag with some suspicion.  
“Is that all you have?”  
Raquel smiled. “I don’t need much,” she said in response. _I won’t be here for long_.  
The woman gave her an unreadable look, then turned and headed into the house. “I’ll show you to your room.”  
Raquel followed her stiff back to the left along a narrow corridor and up a flight of stairs. On the upper floor the furnishings were a lot more opulent, and the house had been renovated to provide more open space and bigger rooms. They passed through a lounge area with leather furniture, plush carpets, and a huge flat-screen TV mounted against the wall. Next came a kitchenette and a dining room, before they entered another corridor lined with a number of closed doors.  
Jamima stopped at the first. “This is you,” she said and pushed it open. “Narina’s room is next door, and the bathroom is on her other side.”  
Raquel’s eyes travelled down the corridor. “And the last one?”  
“That’s the master suite. You are not to enter it under any circumstances.” Her tone brooked no opposition so Raquel said nothing, even though she was tempted to point out that it was not up to Jamima to decide where she could and could not go.  
She squeezed past the woman into her room and looked around. It was spacious and comfortably decorated, and there was even a small balcony. She smiled appreciatively. “It’s lovely,” she proclaimed, and when she turned to Jamima she caught a flash of envy on her face, and knew that she would have to be careful of this woman.  
“Dinner is after _Maghrib_. You will eat with the rest of the servants downstairs,” Jamima ordered. Raquel murmured a meek acknowledgement and the other woman turned and stomped off.

Alone at last, she heaved a sigh of relief and sat on the foot of the bed for a few minutes. The fact that she was housed in the family quarters was a stroke of luck – Hassan’s diamond collection should be on this upper floor too. Once Hassan returned to Rabat for the week, it should be easy enough to explore this part of the house without arousing the suspicion of the servants. But now it was time to get to work. She took out the little gadget Rio had given her earlier and began to go over the room with it.  
_“This is a bug detector,” Rio said, holding out a small black box to her. “You need to check your room to see if anyone is listening or watching.”  
__Raquel looked to Sergio in alarm and he quickly clarified, “It’s just a precaution, Lisbon. Hassan has no reason to monitor you, but we need to be sure.”  
__Rio continued. “So all you do is switch it on – like so – and sweep it over every surface in that room. And don’t forget the light fittings.” He demonstrated by waving the device over her, and when he got to her cleavage it admitted a low scratchy sound, almost like a Geiger counter picking up radiation. The young man smirked and lifted his eyebrows, but swallowed whatever wise-crack he was going to make when the Professor glared at him.  
_She was thorough, even dragging a chair across to sweep the ceiling fan and light, but found nothing, and some of the tension knotting her stomach released. It seemed she was not under any suspicion so far, at least not from Hassan. Jamima was another matter.

After she had unpacked she stepped out onto the balcony, and to her delight it faced in the direction of the hill where their safe house was located. She could stand there and look at it in the distance, and know that Sergio was up there, watching over her. It boosted her confidence tenfold. She leant her elbows on the balustrade and observed her surroundings. Between the house and the compound wall stretched an orchard, and she spotted lemon, orange and pomegranate trees intermingled with each other. In the direction of the safe house the Atlas mountains towered in the distance, holding back the red dunes of the Sahara desert from the city. It was a lovely view, and she stayed there until the evening call for prayer, the _Maghrib_, forced her back inside.

As she stepped out into the corridor she almost collided with someone. “Oh! Sorry,” she exclaimed as she found herself chest to chest with Hassan. She hastily dropped her gaze. “I apologise, sir. I’ll be more careful,” she said meekly and stood back so that he could pass. Her eye fell on Narina behind him and she smiled at her. “Hi. I’m _Rosa_, remember?” she added, in case the girl had forgot what she was supposed to call Raquel. Narina brightened at the sight of a familiar face, so Raquel continued. “I’ll see you after dinner, okay?”  
“No,” Hassan said, and she looked at him in surprise.  
“You’ll eat with us, up here,” he clarified, and promptly led the way to the dining area.  
Raquel held out her hand to Narina and the girl gratefully clutched it, and they followed her father at a more sedate pace. Jamima would not like this, Raquel knew, and she wasn’t sure herself what to make of it. Should she chalk it up to Hassan wanting to please his daughter, or was there another, darker reason for this break with tradition? Only time would tell.

Up on the hill Sergio wordlessly listened to the exchange.  
“Oh-ho,” Rio said gleefully next to him, “I think he fancies her.”  
Sergio looked at him sharply, then got up and strode from the room.  
Nairobi gave Rio a smack on the arm. “What’s the matter with you?” she hissed, and Rio frowned.  
“What?” he complained, and turned around to find all the women in the room glowering at him.  
“That’s the Professor’s _wife_ in there, you imbecile,” Nairobi stated. “Think about that before you open your big mouth next time.”

Sergio found himself in their room, out on the balcony, staring down at the lights of the Hassan compound. He had come to the exact same conclusion as Rio and it disturbed him deeply. This was a complication he had never considered. He had convinced himself that Hassan would not pay Raquel too much attention, as she would be a servant in his household. How could he have been so stupid? Raquel was beautiful and smart; how could he have fooled himself into thinking any man would not be interested? Christ, this was a disaster. What if Hassan tried- He cut off the thought and took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. Raquel would have considered it. She was more attuned to emotional reactions than him, and she would have known this was a possibility and would have planned for it. He hoped. God, how he hoped that was true. He would have to trust her, and do nothing.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

_tbc_


	6. Red-handed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments - it's nice to know others are entertained by the story.

_“Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns_ **

_10 days before Zero Hour  
__Hassan compound  
_Dinner was a strange affair. It was just the three of them and the air was thick with tension. Raquel observed Hassan’s attitude towards his daughter with interest. There was little warmth in his face when he looked at her, and yet she was sure that he would claim to love the girl if asked. That he would claim he had taken her from her mother out of love, even though that act showed no regard for the best interests of the child. He seemed to regard Narina as a possession, and it made her wonder once more why so many men confused possessiveness with love.

Narina kept shooting Raquel anxious looks and restricted herself to monosyllabic responses whenever her father spoke to her. Raquel could see the frustration build in the man, and realised that this had probably been how each family dinner had gone to date. She couldn’t help but wonder whether that frustration had ever spilled over into violence towards the girl, for Narina was clearly afraid of her father. Whenever he moved suddenly or raised his voice, she flinched, but that could also be because she had witnessed Hassan hitting her mother before they had fled. Raquel would try to question Narina about it later. For now, she attempted to diffuse the tension by starting a conversation.  
“You have a beautiful home, sir,” she said and smiled disarmingly, and his dark eyes lifted to hers. For a few seconds she thought he wouldn’t respond, but then he nodded.  
“It’s been in our family for generations,” he informed her. “I’ve made some alterations to modernise it a bit.” He watched her closely as he spoke. “No need to stay moored in the dark ages forever, right?”  
She saw her chance. “I would love a tour, if that’s all right with you. I can ask Jamima to show me around.“  
“Of course. But there’s no need to bother Jamima – I’ll do it myself. Tomorrow after breakfast.” He smiled at her, and it made her skin crawl.  
She did her best to look flattered, before shifting her attention to Narina and talking to her about what she liked to do.

After dinner Raquel got Narina ready for bed. Whilst the girl bathed she used Rio’s little device to also sweep Narina’s room, and once the girl returned she settled next to her on the bed.  
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?” she asked softly, and Narina promptly burst into tears. “Oh, it’ll be all right. Come here.” She folded the girl into her arms and rocked her gently, and felt a sudden rush of longing for Paula. Once Narina had calmed down a bit, Raquel brushed her hair out of her face. “I’ve come to take you back to your Mom, Narina. Would you like that?”  
The girl nodded, a hopeful expression on her face.  
“Okay. But it’s going to take a bit of time.” When a panicky look flooded her eyes Raquel hastily added, “I’ll be here with you the whole time. I won’t leave you, okay? I promise.”  
“How long?” the girl asked in a small voice that made Raquel’s heart ache. “Maybe two weeks. Three at the most.” Raquel didn’t think she could last much longer than that herself, so she would do everything in her power to get the information Sergio needed as soon as possible. Narina’s lip wobbled but she nodded, determined to be brave, and Raquel hugged her again. She held her until she fell asleep, then tiptoed quietly out of the room. Once she was back in her own room she yanked off the _hijab_ and shook out her hair, then gravitated towards the balcony once more. She stood for a while, staring up at the house on the hill, picturing him there looking down at her. It made her feel better, made her feel less alone, and she wished she could crawl into his arms and draw strength from him. But as she couldn’t, she would have to make do with her memories. Tomorrow she would begin gathering information, and that thought consoled her. She had never been good at doing nothing.

_9 days before Zero Hour  
_Hassan took her on a tour of the house as promised the next day. He was charming and talkative, and Raquel encouraged him to run on as much as possible. But all the while at least half of her mind was focussed on what was needed, what the Professor had asked of her.  
_"We need a map of the house, and it needs to be as accurate as possible. Most importantly we need to know where the diamonds are. How long does it take from the various entry points to that room? What obstacles are in the way? What pinch points are there where they could block our exit?”   
__She nodded. “How will I get the information back to you?”  
__“Ah.” He smiled triumphantly. “We’ll use the same method as the World War Two pilots did to smuggle maps. Denver will enter the compound as part of the gardening crew, and you must find a way to hand it over to him.”_

As Hassan took her through the ground floor, she saw many startled looks from the other inhabitants of the house, not to mention an outright hostile glare from Jamima. Obviously it was an unusual sight to see the head of the house spending time with one of the help, and a woman at that. But she could not worry about that now; she was too busy counting steps and gauging the sizes of the various rooms.  
_Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…  
_“And this is the kitchen,” Hassan announced as he stepped through an open archway into a space that smelled deliciously like freshly baked bread.  
_About twenty metres from bottom of stairs to kitchen, from which a door gives access into the orchard and what looks like a herb garden.  
_A heavyset woman looked up in surprise as they entered, and twinkling amber eyes met Raquel’s. Her arms were covered in flour and on the large wooden table a couple of flatbreads were resting, the steam still coming off them. Hassan ignored the woman, just as he had done with everyone else they had encountered, but Raquel smiled at her. It was nice to see a friendly face. “It smells wonderful in here,” she said and the cook’s face split into a grin. She glanced at Hassan and for the briefest of moments Raquel saw contempt in her gaze, before she addressed Raquel.  
“You must be the new nanny?”  
Raquel nodded. “Rosa.”  
“Aziza. As you can see I’m the cook.” She leant in and added teasingly, “And you look like you can do with some more meat on those bones. Feel free to drop by any time – I always have something to nibble on.”  
Raquel smiled broadly, instinctively liking the cook. The kitchen was homely and inviting, and Raquel knew she would be back to spend time there.

They went up the stairs to the family quarters and Raquel’s interest sharpened. They skipped the rooms she had already seen and he led her round to the other wing of the top floor.  
_Eight, nine, ten. About twelve metres from the top of the stairs to the east wing. First room a study, about three-by-four. Second room a gallery-  
_She stopped in the middle of the room and gazed around her in wonder.  
“This is my private art collection,” Hassan informed her, pleased by her obvious awe. “It’s mostly works of Moroccan origin, but I also have some western pieces.” Raquel circled the room, admiring the intricacy of the silver jewellery pieces and the bright colours of the paintings.  
“It’s wonderful,” she said sincerely and smiled at Hassan, momentarily forgetting that she was not supposed to make too much direct eye contact. “Would it be all right if I come here once in a while to admire your collection?”  
He waved an arm expansively. “Come any time you want.”  
“Thank you, sir.” The diamonds had to be close by, she was certain of it.  
Hassan’s gaze lingered on her face, and then he said, “Call me Hassan.”  
She froze. “I, er… I don’t want to give offence,” she murmured, and he waved a hand dismissively.  
“I make the rules in this house. You shall call me Hassan.”  
_Was that a door hidden behind the showcase with the Berber jewellery?  
_Still she hesitated, before finally relenting. “All right. Hassan,” she said softly, and it brought a glint to his eyes that she did not like at all.

Up on the hill Rio glanced at the Professor but wisely did not say anything this time. The older man looked ready to strangle someone and no-one was surprised when he stood and announced curtly, “I’m going for a walk.”  
Nairobi and Monica shared a concerned look; both were hoping that Lisbon knew what the hell she was doing. If not, the Professor might just do something reckless that would endanger them all in an attempt to save the woman he loved.

The tour ended in the master suite. Hassan opened the door with a flourish, as though he was about to show her the crown jewels or something. His gaze flickered down her body as she walked past him and into the room, and it made her stomach turn. The bed was massive and she eyed it with trepidation. It dominated the room and she wondered vindictively whether he was trying to compensate for the size of his dick. _May she never have to find out_. She got out of there as soon as good manners allowed and hastened to her own room. The door did not have a lock and the best she could do was to close it and jam the doorstop in as tightly as she could. It would at least prevent anyone from surprising her; they would have to make some noise to get the door open.

Once she was satisfied she removed a white satin scarf from her wardrobe and sat down at the writing table in the corner, felt pen in hand. Then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, before she opened them again and began to draw. She still did not know where the diamonds were, but she would investigate that hidden door in the gallery as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

_7 days before Zero Hour  
__Hassan compound, morning  
_The gardening company came two days later, at about ten o’clock, and Raquel decided that was a good time to take Narina for a walk in the orchard. They wandered through the trees slowly, enjoying the warm sun and the heavy scent of citrus in the air.  
“This is the only part of the place that I like,” Narina confided once they were out of earshot of the house, and Raquel took her hand.  
“Yes, me too.” Here she could pretend that Sergio was on the balcony of the house on the hill and was watching over her. If he had binoculars he would be able to see her quite clearly, and would know that she was all right. She lifted her face to the sun and smiled. For him.  
One of the gardeners were raking leaves between the trees and she nodded at him as they passed, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow. Something fell to the ground but she did not seem to notice, and once they had moved off Denver stooped down and snatched up the white silk scarf. He looked at the house carefully but no-one was observing him, and stuffed it into his pocket before moving off.

_6 days before Zero Hour  
__Just after midnight_  
The house was quiet and Raquel decided that it was time to investigate the hidden door in the gallery. She was under strict instruction to wait until Hassan left for Rabat before doing anything, but she had been there for four days and he showed no inclination of leaving. It was taking too long; she would have to risk it to get things moving. She slipped out of her room without a sound, aware that Hassan was in the master suite only a few feet away. The bedroom door did not creak; she had taken the trouble to oil the hinges at the first opportunity she got, aware that there would come a time when she wanted to move in and out without people noticing. She made her way around the courtyard to the gallery in the dark, not daring to switch on any lights or even the tiny torch she had brought with her. Not that she needed any light; she had studied the layout of this floor and knew the position of each piece of furniture that she could potentially bump into. From downstairs she could hear snoring; at least someone was getting a good night’s sleep.

At long last she reached the gallery and eased the door open with great care. Once there was a crack wide enough she slipped through, then closed it behind her again. It was pitch-black inside – the heavy curtains were pulled closed and not a chink of moonlight was visible. But that suited her; it meant no-one would see the illumination from her torch either. She switched it on and moved to the jewellery case where she had seen the door. The silver jewellery flickered in the light as she swept the beam over it and yes, there was indeed a door visible behind the case. She directed the beam at the bottom of the case and could now see that there were tracks in the floor. When she leant against the case, it moved easily to the right to reveal the door.

Raquel shone the beam along its seams but could not see any alarm wires. Then she gently tried the handle; it was locked. She dug her lock-pick out of her pocket and took a steadying breath, before clamping the torch between her teeth and setting to work. Three minutes later there was a click as the lock gave, and she heaved a sigh of relief. She eased the door open with some trepidation, half-expecting wailing alarms, flashing lights and armed guards to descend on her. Nothing happened. She shone the beam inside and it fell on the door of a large walk-in vault, and she knew that she had found the diamonds. She took pictures, including close-ups of the locking mechanism, before locking the outer door behind her again and making her way back to her room.

It was as she rounded the corner to the family wing that she bumped into someone. She swallowed a gasp of surprise and then a light flared on, blinding her momentarily. Raquel closed her eyes against the glare and when she opened them again, she looked up into the forbidding face of Hassan.

_tbc_


	7. Tryst

_Tariq tucked the gun into the waist of his denims. Then he said a thing both lovely and terrible. “For you,” he said. “I’d kill with it for you, Laila.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns_ **

_Previous day  
__Safe house, afternoon  
_Denver staggered in by mid-afternoon, sweaty and streaked with dirt. “Why would people want to have gardens?” he grumbled, “it’s damn hard work.”  
Monica smiled at him sympathetically but Sergio had no time for pleasantries.  
“Did you see her?” he demanded, before belatedly amending, “Them. Did you see them?”  
“Yes.” The younger man pulled the white silk from his pocket with a grin. “It went off without a hitch.”  
He held out the material and Sergio took it from him almost reverently. _She had held this only hours ago_. It took everything he had not to interrogate Denver about Raquel – how did she look, did she say anything, was she all right?  
Monica must have seen it in his face because she took pity on him. “Denver. How was Lisbon and the girl? Were they all right?”  
“Oh, yeah, they seemed fine. She smiled and nodded at me. Lisbon,” he clarified as he looked at the Professor, and Sergio blinked in relief.  
His fingers rubbed absently over the decadent material in his hands before he shook himself and got down to business. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

He moved over to the large table and everyone gathered round as he unfolded the scarf and spread it open. They stared at the detailed floor plan in astonishment, until Tokyo broke the silence. She gave a low whistle and said in admiration, “Who needs the architectural plans when you’ve got Lisbon?”  
Sergio could only smile proudly. _That’s my girl_. A small piece of paper was attached to the corner and he removed it. It was covered in her elegant writing.  
_Not sure about location of diamonds yet. Suspect where red cross is.  
_He searched the plan and found the red cross at the far end of a room notated ‘Gallery’. As he read on, his previous relief disappeared like mist before the sun.  
_Will try to confirm tonight after lights-out.  
_His head snapped up. “Has Hassan left Marrakech?”  
Marseille shook his head. “He was supposed to go back to Rabat today, but he hasn’t left the compound.”  
_Oh no_. Raquel was going to snoop around with that dangerous man in the house. Sergio didn’t like the idea one bit, but he had no way of communicating with her. And even if he could, would she listen to him? He suspected not – his wife was a head-strong woman who didn’t shirk away from danger, and he knew that he didn’t have a good reason to tell her not to do it. But he would like to have some insurance; he would not leave any stone unturned to keep her safe. And right then he didn’t care who else he might put in danger to do so. He ordered, “Prepare for Defcon 2 for tonight,” and strode from the room before anyone could object.

_6 days before Zero Hour  
__Hassan compound, just after midnight  
_Raquel blinked in the harsh light and stared at Hassan, her heart hammering loudly in her chest. Oh, fuck. _Think_.  
“What are you doing slinking around in the dark like this?” he demanded, his voice harsh, and for the first time she sensed the violence simmering within him, just below the surface. She swallowed and shrunk back from his bulk towering over her.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to turn on a light and disturb anyone-“  
She stopped talking as he grabbed her arm and squeezed, and pain shot up her nervous system.  
“Ow! You’re hurting me,” she protested, and up on the hill Sergio sprang to his feet and grabbed for the comms.  
“Defcon 2 is operational. I repeat, operational,” he barked, doing his utmost to keep the panic out of his voice. Down in the valley several black-clad figures stirred in the dark and began to converge on the compound.  
“I say again, what are you doing?” Hassan reiterated, the menace in his tone unmistakable.  
But just as Raquel opened her mouth to respond, a small voice behind them said, “Rosa?”

Hassan swung round and Raquel saw Narina standing there, barefoot and sleepy-eyed. The girl’s gaze flickered between her father and the woman who had come to rescue her, and she added, “Did you get the glass of water I asked for?”  
Raquel could have kissed her. “I was just about to,” she responded, her eyes remaining on Hassan as she gestured to the kitchenette to her left. “She had a nightmare and I heard her cry out,” she explained, and for a moment no-one dared to breathe. Not Raquel, not Narina, and least of all Sergio.  
Hassan looked between Raquel and his daughter, his gaze calculating, before he suddenly relaxed. “Next time switch on the lights,” he said easily, “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”  
Raquel could only nod, overcome with relief. She would never know what convinced him, but she didn’t particularly care right then.  
Sergio’s relief was just as big. He ordered everyone to stand down, then he slumped into a chair, pulled off his glasses and wiped a weary hand across his eyes. He needed to see her. It had only been a couple of days but he felt overwhelmed by her absence, by not knowing how she was really doing.  
And down in the valley Nairobi ripped the night-vision goggles from her face and sagged against the nearest wall. “That’s it. We have to get those two together somehow, before he gets us all killed,” she announced, and Helsinki nodded in agreement.

_5 days before Zero Hour  
_Denver made sure to take responsibility for the orchard again, where he had seen Lisbon the last time. He had been tasked with conveying a message to her as part of the gang’s plan to orchestrate a meeting between Lisbon and the Professor, and felt his best bet was to stick to the tried and tested procedure. As he dragged the rake over the ground he kept an eye out, and sure enough Lisbon and the girl appeared a few minutes later, strolling along and chatting. He looked up and caught Narina’s eye, and waved. When Lisbon also looked in his direction, he lit his last cigarette and casually dropped the empty packet on the ground before walking off. Behind him he heard Lisbon mutter something and then she called out, “Hey!” and he swung around, his heart hammering in his chest. What was she doing, calling attention to them like this?!  
“You dropped this.” She held out the empty packet and he looked around in panic.  
Fuck, this was going horribly wrong. How was he supposed to convey to her that there was a message inside? He was not cut out for this spy shit. He directed his gaze pointedly at the packet and said, “Maybe _you_ can throw it away for me,” but she shook her head.  
“I insist that you throw it away yourself,” she snapped, and shoved it into his hands hard enough for him to feel an object inside. Understanding dawned and he took it without another word, before moving away reluctantly. It was a proper comedy of errors and he almost laughed, more out of hysterics than mirth. They were both trying to use the empty packet as a means to convey a message. This was a fucking disaster – the others were going to kill him for ruining their plan, but Lisbon’s message had to take preference – her information was crucial to the operation, whilst his was not. It was only when he rounded the corner and shook out the contents of the packet that he realised the piece of paper with his message was no longer there. She must have palmed it without him noticing, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He pocketed the memory stick he found inside and tossed the empty packet into the nearest trash can, before continuing with his chores.

_An hour later  
_Raquel was acutely aware of the scrap of paper she had shoved into her sleeve; it felt like it was burning a hole through her clothes but she forced herself to be patient. At least she had managed to get the memory stick with the photographs of the vault to Denver in return. The paper she had palmed could only be a message from the Professor, and she couldn’t wait to read it. Oh, how she missed him, and even the possibility of seeing his handwriting took on monumental proportions. She only took it out once she had locked herself in the loo an hour later. Alas, it was from Marseille and not from him, and for a moment she was flooded with disappointment. But she pulled herself together and read it twice, memorising every word, before she tore it into tiny pieces and flushed it away. Then she went to look for Hassan. She somehow had to persuade him to let her out of the compound.

She found him watching a football match on TV and smiled hesitantly when he turned in her direction.  
“Rosa.” He looked her up and down. His gaze was heavy and she could almost feel it wander over every inch of her body. “Do you like football?”  
“Erm, no, not particularly,” she answered, afraid that he was about to invite her to watch with him. She was determined to spend as little time as possible in this repulsive man’s company. “I have a favour to ask,” she hastened on before he could speak again. “It’s for Narina, actually.” He just watched her without saying anything, so she forged on. “It’s not good for her to grow up so isolated. She needs to have some interaction with other kids her age-“  
“I’m not sending her to school,” he cut her off, and for a moment she was blinded by anger. _You misogynistic, stupid prick. Who gave you the right to deprive your daughter of an education?_ She had to bite her tongue not to give him a piece of her mind right there. _Patience_.  
“No, I wasn’t going to suggest that,” she said evenly. “I have a friend who has a daughter about the same age, and I thought I could take Narina to play with her.” He frowned and opened his mouth but she bulldozed on, to pre-empt any suggestion to bring the other girl to this house. “My friend runs a carpet shop in the _medina_, and her daughter helps out there. She has kindly agreed that I bring Narina to the shop to meet her daughter. That way we won’t disrupt the business too much. It’ll just be for an hour or so, and I’ll bring her right back.”  
He thought about it and time stretched out, and she had to restrain herself from fidgeting. She was beginning to suffer from a serious case of cabin fever, and the possibility of seeing the world outside once more had begun to take on an irresistible allure. _Please. God, please say yes. I need to get out of this compound_.  
Eventually he nodded, and she had to be careful not to let her elation show. “All right, for an hour,” he agreed grudgingly, and for once she gave him a broad, genuine smile.  
“Thank you, Hassan.”

_Early afternoon  
_Raquel sat at the kitchen table, indulging in some of the pomegranate tart that Aziza had baked. She felt at ease here; it was the only place – apart from her room and its balcony – where she didn’t feel she had to be on guard constantly.  
“So,” Aziza said, wiping her hands on her apron, “what brings you here, to this house?”  
Raquel looked up in surprise. “I needed a job after my husband left me,” she explained, careful to stick to her legend even with this woman.  
“Hm.” Aziza plonked herself down on the opposite chair. “So that’s who you’re yearning for? Your ex-husband?”  
Raquel stared at her. “I’m sorry?”  
Aziza laughed. “Oh honey. It’s written all over your face. You’re love-sick.”  
“Oh God.” Raquel buried her face in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”  
The other woman smiled sympathetically. “No. Not usually. But here, when your guard is down, it is plain as day.”  
“Oh.” Raquel was relieved; hopefully that meant that no-one apart from Aziza had noticed.  
“So?” Aziza lifted an eyebrow and Raquel laughed.  
“You’re prying,” she said, but there was no accusation in the words.  
“Of course I am,” Aziza proclaimed cheerfully, “what else am I going to do to brighten up my boring life?” When Raquel hesitated she added, “I won’t tell anyone else. I give you my word.”

Raquel relented. “Not my ex-husband. No. He was a shit,” she said with feeling. “There’s someone else. Uhm,” she smiled wistfully, filled with yearning for Sergio and knowing that he was listening. “He’s sweet and wonderful and amazing, and he makes me indescribably happy. I haven’t seen him in a while, and I really miss him.”  
“Ah. True love,” Aziza smiled and leant over to squeeze Raquel’s arm. “So forgive me for asking – but what the hell are you doing here then, with that man?” She waved a hand upwards, towards the family suite, and her disgust was plain to see.  
Raquel made a decision on the spot; she was likely to need help at some stage, and it would be advantageous to have an ally in the house. She grabbed onto Aziza’s hand and lowered her voice. “I’m here for Narina,” she said, carefully observing every shift in expression on the cook’s face. “I’m a friend of her mother’s, and I’ve come to steal Narina back.”  
Sergio stiffened and clasped the table so hard his knuckles turned white. _What the fuck was she doing_?! Nairobi and Tokyo shared a look, half-expecting the Professor to order them down the hill in their combat gear in broad daylight.

Aziza’s eyes widened. “How? You’re one woman in a house protected by the Moroccan Army. Not to mention that everyone here is so afraid of Hassan that they wouldn’t dare-. I mean, if any of them got even a sniff of what you’re planning, they’ll sell you out so fast your head will spin.”  
Raquel swallowed. “Including you?”  
Sergio closed his eyes and didn’t dare to breathe as he waited for the answer.  
Aziza gazed at Raquel unwaveringly. “No. Not me,” she said, and Raquel let the tension seep from her shoulders. Her instincts had been right.  
“Why not?” she asked. “Are you not afraid of him?”  
The cook smiled. “Of course I am. But I decided long ago that I would not let that fear rule my life. I will not let him diminish me until all that is left is this… servitude to a master. I am worth more than that. Every woman in this house is worth more than that.”  
Raquel could feel tears spring to her eyes and she squeezed Aziza’s hand. “Yes, Aziza. You are worth more than that. All of you.”

Nairobi watched the Professor bury his face in his hands and looked around at the others. “Right,” she announced, “I think the time has come to implement Plan Tryst.”  
Sergio jerked upright. “Plan _what_?” he exclaimed, and was disturbed to see everyone there grinning at him.  
“Plan Tryst,” Tokyo repeated.  
“What are you talking about? I have not given any plan such a ridiculous name,” the Professor proclaimed indignantly, and Denver laughed.  
“I think it’s a great name,” he smirked and Monica shook her head at him. It seemed that he had conveniently forgot that a day ago he didn’t even know what the word meant and that she had to explain it to him.  
“That’s because it isn’t your plan, Professor,” Nairobi said smugly. “It’s ours."  
“_What_?!” Sergio sputtered, alarmed. “But… That’s not how it works!” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You can’t go around making your own plans. You’ll screw everything up-“  
“Oh, what, like sending us to that house in our combat gear in the middle of the day to rescue Lisbon? Like _that_ kind of screwing up of the plan?” Nairobi stared him down. “Admit it, you were considering doing that just now, weren’t you?”  
Sergio had nothing to say to that, so she added more gently, “Look, Professor. You obviously love her very much, and we can all understand your concern for her. But the fact that you don’t know for certain whether she is doing all right is messing with your head and putting us all in danger, so we decided to take the initiative and make a plan. For the two of you to meet.”  
He stared at her in astonishment, before his heart began to beat uncontrollably in his chest. _He could see her_. In the flesh, not at a distance through binoculars, and suddenly he wanted nothing more.

_Late afternoon  
_As they neared the enormous gate to enter the _medina_, Raquel gripped Narina’s hand tightly. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay?” she instructed, eyeing the throngs of people that were milling around the huge market. They plunged inside and she concentrated on recalling the directions Denver’s note had provided. She was so focussed on that and not losing Narina that she did not notice Jamima slip through the gate a few metres behind her. Raquel crossed the main square and headed into _Rue Smarine_, ignoring the salesmen who shoved merchandise in her face. Once she passed through the arch into the narrower lanes of the _souks_ the press of bodies increased even more, and she pulled the girl in front of her and steered her through the crowd with a firm grip on her shoulders. Eventually she reached the _Souk des Tapis_ and counted the shops on the left until she reached the fifth one, and guided Narina inside with a sigh of relief. To her surprise she found one of the women who had acted as a reference for her inside. The woman smiled at her and nodded at a door that led to a small storeroom. “He’s in there,” she announced and held out her hand to Narina. “Hi there, come and meet my daughter.” As she led Narina away Raquel approached the door, expecting Marseille on the other side. But when she pushed it open and saw Sergio standing there, she had to stifle a sob of relief.

_Five minutes later  
_Jamima stepped into the shop and gazed around. The two girls were sitting on a pile of carpets and looked up in surprise as she entered. She could not see the nanny anywhere and she felt a stab of vindication. She had suspected that the foreigner was up to something when she talked Hassan into letting her leave the compound with the girl, and when she couldn’t see her anywhere that suspicion only strengthened. “Where is she?” she demanded, towering over the girls. “Where is Rosa?” Narina shrunk back as the other girl mutely pointed at the storeroom door, and Jamima marched over and pressed her ear to the wood. She could hear low voices inside, one of them definitely male, and suspicion turned into certain knowledge. She triumphantly threw open the door and stepped through.

_tbc_


	8. Jealousy

_“Love is a delicate thing that needs to be cosseted and protected. Love is not robust and love is not unyielding. Love can crumble under a few harsh words, or be tossed away with a handful of careless actions.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner_ **

_5 days before Zero Hour  
__Souk des Tapis  
_Jamima threw open the storeroom door and stepped through, a look of victory on her face. “I _knew_ you were not to be trusted,” she declared, then stopped short. Three faces were turned towards her, all with equally astonished expressions, and it took her a few seconds to fully register the tableau. Rosa and another woman were seated at a small table with glasses of mint tea in front of them, and a Moroccan man with a clipboard in his hand stood at the stacks of carpets that filled the storeroom.  
“Jamima?” Rosa said in puzzlement, “what on earth are you doing here?”  
“I… er…” She looked around wildly, searching for anything that might vindicate her. But there was nothing; no man’s jacket lying around, no smouldering cigarette to indicate the presence of someone else. This seemed to be exactly what Rosa had claimed – two friends meeting so that the children could play together.  
“Oh, are you a friend of Rosa’s?” the other woman said, then kindly offered, “Would you like to join us for some mint tea?”  
A blush pushed up Jamima’s neck and face, her embarrassment knowing no bounds, and she turned on her heel and marched out without another word.

_Fifteen minutes earlier  
_As Raquel passed through the _medina_ gate she recognised Helsinki, who was leaning against one of the pillars, smoking. And when she turned onto the _Rue Smarine_ Nairobi was at one of the stalls, haggling with the vendor. At the entrance of the _Souk des Tapis_ Tokyo brushed past her, and she began to wonder what all the precautions were for. She was here for a quick meeting with Marseille, and as he was the one who had dropped her off at the compound it would surely not raise any suspicion if anyone saw them together? Probably just the Professor being over-meticulous, she thought fondly. Not that she wasn’t grateful; it would be a nightmare to spot a tail in this mass of humanity by herself and it would be useful to know if Hassan had had her followed. It was only when she stepped into the storeroom and saw Sergio and not Marseille that she understood the need for all that precaution. The sight of him almost overwhelmed her, and she had to stifle a sob of relief as she stumbled into his arms. He was laughing, and she could tell from the way he clutched her to him that he was just as moved.  
“Oh God, it’s _so_ good to see you,” she mumbled into his chest, before raising onto her toes and offering him her mouth. He kissed her hungrily, urgently, and she never wanted it to end. But he suddenly pulled back and pressed a hand to his ear.  
“What?” he asked, and she saw the communication device for the first time. His eyes never left her and his other hand held onto her fingers as he listened. “Okay, copy that,” he said, none too pleased, before addressing her. “Jamima is on her way.”

_Present time  
_Rosa and her ‘friend’ remained where they were until Sergio emerged from between the stacks of carpets where he had been hiding. “We’re clear,” he reported, and the other woman stood immediately.   
She gave Raquel a small knowing smile. “I’ll make sure you are not disturbed,” she said and made her way back into the main shop, pulling the door closed behind her. The stock taker also disappeared to guard the back entrance, and Sergio and Raquel found themselves alone once more. There was a second of awkwardness as they looked at one another, before she stepped forward and into his waiting arms again. He summarily pulled the _hijab_ from her head and wove his fingers into her hair, and she was struck by the symbolism of the gesture as she pressed herself against the length of his body. She had missed this – his touch, his scent, his voice, his eyes, _him_.  
“How are you?” he asked, gazing at her tenderly, but she really didn’t want to talk right then.  
“Later,” she said, reaching for his shirt buttons, “right now I need you to make love to me.” She didn’t care how needy that sounded; she _did_ need him.  
And it was a testament to how much he needed this too that he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even consider the fact that someone could walk in on them at any moment. He simply lifted her, moved over to the nearest wall and pinned her to it. Her lips locked onto his and they kissed ardently as he fumbled to get her long dress out of the way and then work himself free from the confines of his trousers. He didn’t waste time in trying to remove her underwear; he simply pulled it to one side and buried himself in her heat.

Her eyes locked onto his as he began to move, and she barely blinked until they had both tumbled over the edge, gorging on the adoration that shone from his gaze as he made love to her. It was so different from the lustful, possessive expression in Hassan’s eyes; so much purer and heartfelt. She clutched at his hair, his shoulders, his neck, and breathed her arousal into his mouth as he pounded into her. There was only the sound of their harsh breathing and her back colliding with the wall, and when she came she dug her nails into his neck, leaving red crescents in his skin. He didn’t even feel it; he was too busy emptying himself into her. He kept her pinned to the wall until their breathing had slowed, before lowering her until her feet could touch the floor. As he stepped back and began to tuck himself away she could see the realisation dawn of how impulsively they had acted, how reckless, and knew that self-recrimination would shortly follow. The Professor never did anything on impulse, after all. She smiled and laid a hand against his cheek in an attempt to pre-empt him.  
“I really needed that,” she confessed, and moved forward to kiss him once more. He reciprocated, his tongue stroking hers, his hands framing her face, until she finally pulled away. She had to get back to the compound on time – she did not want to needlessly aggravate Hassan, and she knew that they had to talk about the operation before she left.  
He searched her face, gauging her state of mind as he asked, “How are you, Raquel?”  
Oh God, how wonderful it was to hear her name spoken again.  
“I’m okay,” she said, and met his gaze steadily to show him she was telling the truth.  
He shifted uncomfortably. “Hassan hasn’t- He hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?”  
“Darling.” She caressed his face before resting her hand over his heart. “You’ve been listening. You know he hasn’t.”  
“But he wants to.” He gripped her hand, trying to rein in his anger, his jealousy, and in her mind’s eye she saw the Moroccan’s face loom over her.  
_Hassan’s eyes tracing down her body, the pupils dilating as they swept over her breasts. How close he always stood to her. The unnecessary touches._ Yes, he wanted to.

Her troubled silence told Sergio all he needed to know. “Damn it, Raquel. Let’s just get you and the girl out of there and go. Right now.” His eyes were wild as he gestured towards the back door. “Let’s take Narina and walk out of that door, and go.”  
She closed her eyes. It was such a tempting offer. But they both knew, deep down, that they couldn’t. “We can’t. Narina and her mother would have to hide for the rest of their lives if we did that. And they don’t have almost limitless funds to do it with, like we do.”  
“We can give them money-“  
“Sergio.”  
He stopped, and her heart broke at the anguish on his face. For long seconds they just watched each other. Eventually he sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “What will you do if he tries something?”

Ah yes, that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? How far was she prepared to go to save Narina? Would she let that repulsive man fondle her, kiss her, even fuck her? Was that too high a price to pay to save a child? She swallowed. “I’ll do what I have to,” she said softly, and his eyes filled with horror.  
“No, Raquel.” He shook his head emphatically. “No.”  
“Then what do you suggest I do?”  
“I’ll think of something,” he vowed, pulling her against him, “I won’t let it come to that.”  
She clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder. If someone could figure a way out of this, it was her beloved Professor. She would hold onto that hope fervently, but she also knew, deep down, that her choice had already been made. Perhaps it was because she saw Paula’s face every time she looked at Narina, or the mere thought of this young girl having to grow up in that household, with the threat of violence forever hanging over her head, but she would do whatever it took. “I have to go,” she said regretfully, and they shared a last desperate kiss before she turned for the door.  
“Raquel,” he called after her and she turned back. “We need to know whether he has the Sultan of Morocco. Everything hinges on that.”  
She nodded, and then she stepped out the door and away from him.

_4 days before Zero Hour  
_As they sat around the table eating breakfast, Raquel pondered her options. She somehow needed to persuade Hassan to show her his diamonds – it was the only way to confirm whether he had the Sultan. Her thoughts went back to the conversation between her and Sergio back in Palawan, what felt like a lifetime ago.  
_“If we manage to snatch Narina back, how are we going to prevent the bastard from coming after her again?”  
__“I think I have found the solution to that. It revolves around the Sultan of Morocco.”   
__“Who’s that?”  
__“Not who. What.” He walked to the wall and pinned a photograph of a large diamond on it. “I have spoken to some of my brother’s fences, who told me about the Sultan of Morocco when I enquired about Hassan. It’s a famous blue diamond that disappeared from circulation in the 1990s, and rumour has it that Hassan stole it from a collector in California back then.”  
__She frowned. “How will that help us?”  
__He smiled. “The King of Morocco, Hassan’s cousin, has been looking for that diamond for twenty years. He won’t be happy to learn that his cousin has had it all this time, and hid it from him.”_

Unfortunately the only way she could think of to do so was the one thing she didn’t want to contemplate. But there was simply no other option. She would have to make him think she was interested in him, would have to manipulate him into wanting to impress her. Sergio’s face filled her mind and she felt like crying; she never thought she would ever have to tolerate another man caressing her or kissing her, that she would ever have to flirt with someone else. It would have to be the performance of a lifetime. She took a breath and forced a smile onto her face; no time like the present.  
“Hassan.” He lifted his head to find her looking at him warmly. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday. Narina really enjoyed it, didn’t you sweetie?”  
The girl nodded with enthusiasm. “Imane is nice. Can I go and play with her again?”  
Hassan smiled indulgently. “Yes. You can go twice a week,” he announced, as if he was doing her an enormous favour, and both females did their best to appear suitably grateful, to stoke his considerable ego.

For the next three days she worked on him. She was careful not to overdo it – a sudden change in her attitude would only create suspicion, so she restrained herself to some understated flirting – a friendly smile, an appreciative look, a fleeting touch. She hated every second of it, but she gritted her teeth and persevered, knowing all the while that Sergio had to listen to all of this. Would he understand? Or did he think she really was interested in this terrible man? She couldn’t bear to contemplate that possibility, so she banished it from her mind. There was nothing she could do about it until she saw him again, anyway. Only then would she be able to explain.

_1 day before Zero Hour  
_The next time she took Narina to the _medina_, the anticipation of seeing Sergio was tempered by an underlying anxiety, and it was with some trepidation that she entered the storeroom. She was beginning to feel the strain of the operation, of what she had to do. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she realised that something was amiss as soon as she laid eyes on him. He stood against the wall, arms dangling by his side, and although he tried to hide his jealousy it was written all over his face. They had never been in this situation before and she wasn’t sure what the best way was to approach him. How was she supposed to placate the man she loved when she was barely holding herself together? She smiled uncertainly, feeling tainted by the last few days, and neither of them seemed to know how to breach the barrier that had unexpectedly sprung up between them. He smiled back, but it was strained, and for the first time she began to fear that this operation might cause irreparable damage to their relationship.

She took refuge in the task at hand. “I have an idea to get Hassan to show me his diamond collection,” she announced, and saw him bite back a retort. Perhaps he’d wanted to say _I bet_, or something equally bitchy, but she gave him points for holding back. They both had a tendency to lash out when they felt threatened, and she knew she would have to tread carefully lest she made things even worse. She explained her plan and he listened without a word, gradually relaxing as she talked. When she was done he nodded his approval.  
“I have something for you,” he said in response and took an object out of his pocket and held it out to her. It was an ornate brooch and she tried to hide her confusion as she took it. Was he trying to show his affection with this gesture? It was not exactly her style, and she cast around for a diplomatic response as she looked up at him. His mouth quirked at her reaction; apparently she had not been as subtle as she would have liked. “I know it’s rather ugly,” he conceded, “but it has a camera hid inside.” He watched as she turned it in her hands and examined it, marvelling at how well the gadget was disguised. “Though the pictures of the vault you sent is of value and allowed us to procure a similar vault door to practice on, the camera will allow us to observe Hassan opening that door if you should get him to show you the diamonds.”  
She nodded; that made sense, and she slipped the brooch into her bag.  
But he wasn’t finished. “I want you to take this too,” he added and held out a small plastic vial filled with a colourless liquid, and she took it gingerly.  
“What is it?”  
“Carfentanil. Put three drops of that into any liquid and it’ll put a grown man to sleep in five minutes.”  
Her eyes lifted to his then and she smiled genuinely for the first time since she had entered the room. “Thank you.”

Her reaction appeared to mollify him and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry for being so…” he waved a hand vaguely and she sighed as well.  
“Me too,” she confessed, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to make him understand. “I hope that you know that I hate every minute of it – of having to pretend that I like that man. Because nothing can be further from the truth. A misogynist and an abuser, God, Sergio, I can’t stand the thought of him touching me or-“  
He moved forward and swept her up in his arms, and his lips on hers cut off her next words. And that was all it took for them to lose control. They tore at each other’s clothes, overcome with a desire to feel skin on skin, and when they were both naked he lifted her onto the desk and entered her in one swift thrust. His lips branded each inch of her skin he could reach as they bucked desperately together, and she clawed at his back until she drew blood. He bit into her shoulder in response, hard enough to leave a mark, and she hissed and grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled. He looked up at her, and for the briefest of moments she saw something dark and dangerous in his eyes, something that told her in no uncertain terms that he would plot the demise of any man that tried to take her from him. “I love you,” he said, and it carried all the more meaning because he so rarely said it to her face.  
“And I love you. Only you. Always you,” she vowed, and he pushed her down on the table, grabbed her hips and proceeded to fuck her until all thoughts of Hassan had been driven from her head.

_That evening  
_She was subdued over dinner and she could sense the questioning looks Hassan gave her, but she did not meet his gaze. Afterwards she put Narina to bed and when she came out of the girl’s room, he was waiting for her.  
“You seemed distracted at dinner,” he said, “is something the matter?” and to his astonishment she promptly burst into tears.  
“Oh, heavens, I’m sorry, Hassan,” she gulped, turning her face away in embarrassment. “It’s just-“ She sniffed wretchedly and made an effort to gather herself. “I, uhm, I lost something.” She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “I inherited a ring from my grandmother, you see, and today I noticed that the diamond had fallen out. I can’t find it anywhere, and I’ve no idea where or when I lost it.” She started crying again and through her tears saw his expression brighten. Like any man he didn’t deal well with crying women, but at least she had presented him with a problem that he could solve.  
“Is that all? Come now, dry your tears,” he proclaimed and moved closer to sling an arm around her shoulders. It took everything she had not to shudder in revulsion. “It just so happens that I own a few diamonds,” he confided, and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find one that fits. Come, bring the ring and follow me.”  
Raquel carefully hid her elation as she trailed after him, but up in the safe house there were no such constraints. There were whoops of joy, high-fives and many a comment of ‘Yes Lisbon!”, and from Sergio a proud, private smile. How he loved that woman.

They crowded around the monitor and watched Hassan’s back as Raquel followed him round to the gallery, the brooch camera working perfectly. They saw him move the display case to reveal the door and unlock it with a key he took from his pocket. As the vault came into view Nairobi purred, “Oh yes, come to Mama, baby,” making the others grin. She was in charge of finding a way to open that door, and she watched closely as Raquel stood to Hassan’s side in an effort to give them the best possible view. He tapped in a code and pressed his right thumb to a small glass panel, and then turned the big stainless steel wheel anti-clockwise.  
“Shit,” Nairobi said as she straightened up and met the Professor’s troubled gaze. “We’re going to have to hack that fucker’s thumb off.”

“What’s in here?” Raquel asked as she shifted slightly to try and see which numbers he pressed for the code. Six digits. _Something, something, nine, two, something, something_. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. As he pressed his thumb against the glass panel her heart sank. That was certainly a complication.  
“You’ll see soon enough,” Hassan said enigmatically as he spun the wheel and swung the door open. Lights began to flicker on automatically as the vault door opened and she caught her breath as case upon case of diamonds began to twinkle.  
“Oh my God,” she breathed as she stepped inside and began to wander amongst the display, and Hassan was so pleased with her reaction that he didn’t even call her on the ‘God’ uttering. Right in the middle of the room there was a plinth, and on it rested a midnight blue cushion with an enormous stone. It reflected the light in a bluish hue and her eyes fastened onto it in amazement. And boundless relief. It was here, he did in fact have it.

The Sultan of Morocco.

“Oh my God, Hassan,” she exclaimed and swung round, only to realise that he was right behind her. And then it happened – the thing she had dreaded for nine days now. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her against him, and forced his mouth onto hers.

_tbc_


	9. Sacrifice

_“Learn this now and learn it well. Like a compass facing north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns_ **

_1 day before Zero Hour  
_It was all wrong. The smell of him, the texture of his lips, the coarseness of the beard. The taste of his tongue. The only thing Raquel’s body registered was: _this is not Sergio_. So she struggled. She couldn’t help it. He had caught her unawares and instinct kicked in, and she wrenched her mouth from his and tried to push him away.  
“What are you-“ she began, but he never let her finish. He slapped her across the mouth, hard, and the force of it reverberated around her skull and blackened her vision momentarily. And instantly she was back in Spain, cowering before Alberto as he berated her because there was no milk in the fridge.  
The gang watched and listened in horror. “Jesus,” Tokyo exclaimed while Monica pressed her hands over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. All attention turned to Sergio. The colour had drained from his face; he swayed as though he was about to fall over and put a hand on the table to steady himself. He couldn’t breathe, or tear his gaze away from the screen. _Oh no. No no no_.

Raquel reflexively raised her arms before her face. She tasted blood and whimpered in pain as she tried desperately to hold on to who she was. _I am Lisbon. I will not be intimidated by this cruel man.  
_“You’ve been throwing yourself at me for days and now you want to play hard to get?” He stepped into her personal space, crowding her as he continued, his voice coming to her as from afar. “I am the master of this house. If I want to kiss you, I will. Do you understand, bitch?”  
Her vision returned to find him towering over her. She clutched her cheek and blinked back tears. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “You caught me off-guard. I- I wasn’t expecting it. It won’t happen again.”  
Her submissiveness pacified him and he relaxed. “Good. Now, let’s find a diamond for that ring, and then I’m going to take you back to my room and fuck you, like you’ve been gagging for me to do for days.” The words were said casually, as though there wasn’t something fundamentally wrong with them, and she felt cold all over. _Oh, Christ, no_.  
Another wave of dizziness swept over Sergio and he felt hands guide him to a chair. There were voices far off but he couldn’t make out any words. _It was happening_. What he had feared most of all was actually happening. He couldn’t believe it. Then he thought – _no_, and sprang to his feet again. “No,” he said out loud, and a heavy silence fell over the room.

Panic threatened to overwhelm Raquel and she took a couple of deep breaths. _Think, Raquel. Play for time_. “I, uhm…” she began, and flinched away when his hand lifted once more. “No no, please, I want to,” she said hastily, and he hesitated. “But I, uhm, I’m not prepared.” She forced a smile onto her face. “You know us ladies, Hassan. I’d like to shave and, uhm, other things, you know? So that I look my best for you. Wouldn’t you like that?” she added, dropping her voice invitingly even as she fought back nausea at the thought of it. “How about tomorrow night?” she suggested, and held her breath as he considered. “We can make an event of it – a nice dinner, some wine, and then…” She trailed off, unable even to say it.  
He relented. “All right.”  
Her legs felt weak from relief but she held her pose. “I look forward to it,” she forced herself to say, and that won a smile from him.

“Oh fuck, thank God,” Nairobi breathed, relieved, then looked around at the others. “Lisbon is a fucking rock star.”  
There were numerous murmurs of agreement, but not from Sergio. He was still in shock, and all he wanted to do was march down the hill, into that house, and get his hands around Hassan’s neck. And once he had squeezed the life out of him, he would whisk Raquel back home, where he could coddle her and show her how much he loved her. He was brought back to the present when a pair of hands framed his face and he found himself looking into Nairobi’s eyes.  
“Professor,” she said gently, “Lisbon is all right.”  
But he shook his head, tears glistening in his. “No. No, Nairobi, she is not. How can she be?” He wrenched away from her and addressed them all. “We go in tomorrow night. I don’t care if we need more time. We’re going in.”  
There was not a single voice of dissent, even though they still had no plan to put the security guards out of action. They all understood. They would make it work for the Professor. For Lisbon.

The shaking started as soon as Raquel was alone in her room. It was so bad that she struggled to remove the transmitter and the camera-brooch, and once she had switched both off she collapsed onto the foot of the bed and pressed her hands over her mouth. And then the sobs came, huge, heaving, and filled with anguish. She squeezed her eyes shut and rocked to and fro, crying as she hadn’t done since scraping together the courage to leave Alberto. How was she going to get through the next day? She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. She had stupidly thought that she could prostitute herself for the greater good, but now that it had become a reality she realised that she couldn’t. The only option left to her was to kill him, and as she sat there, trembling in fear, she resolved to do exactly that.

Her door swung open and she sprang to her feet, looking around wildly for some sort of weapon. _It’s him. He’d come for her tonight_. It took a moment through the blur of tears to realise that it wasn’t Hassan. It was Narina, and Raquel slumped back onto the bed as she wiped at her cheeks. The girl’s face was pinched and anxious as she padded over and laid a hand on Raquel’s arm.  
“I heard you cry,” she said, and her own tears were not far from the surface.  
Raquel did her best to pull herself together. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I feel a bit sad tonight,” she deflected, and pulled Narina into her lap and hugged her tightly, as much for her own comfort as that of the girl’s.  
“When can we leave, Raquel?” Narina enquired in a small voice, and Raquel had to swallow hard before she could answer.  
“Soon,” she promised, hoping with everything she had that it was true. “Only a few more days.” She closed her eyes and prayed to the only god she truly believed in. _Please, Sergio. I can’t take it much longer. Please get us out of here_.  
Unbeknownst to her he was standing on the balcony up on the hill, staring down at her room with a focussed intensity, his brain working ceaselessly, plotting, planning, hatching, to do exactly that.

_15 hours before Zero Hour  
_When Aziza entered the kitchen before sunrise she stopped short, surprised to find Rosa already there. The nanny sat at the table, her face pale and an ugly purple bruise adorning her left cheek, and Aziza knew immediately what had happened. _That bastard_.  
“Oh, Rosa,” the cook lamented and stepped closer to lift the other woman’s chin. “Let me see.” She turned the damaged cheek to the light. “Are you all right?”  
Raquel did not deign to respond to that, but said instead, “I need help, Aziza. I need information.”  
Rosa no longer had that twinkle in her eye that she did when Aziza had first met her, but then that was nothing new. She had seen it happen to countless women once they found themselves under the yoke of a man like Hassan.  
“What kind of information?” she asked, eyeing the other woman steadily.  
“About the security at this house.”  
Aziza lifted an eyebrow. “What makes you think I can provide any information about that?”  
“I’ve seen you bring the security guards mint tea,” Raquel continued, “and I need to know whether that is a regular occurrence.”  
In the safe house the Professor began to smile. _The Carfentanil_.  
There was a silence as Aziza digested the question. “Why, Rosa? Why do you want to know that?”  
Raquel pondered how much she could divulge, and finally settled on a watered-down version of the truth. “Because I need to put them out of action in order to get Narina and myself out of this place.”

_13 hours before Zero Hour  
_Denver once again found himself in the orchard, raking leaves, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. His mind was on other things. He had a lot to convey to Lisbon and he was trying to order his thoughts so that he could do it in the shortest possible time. They could not be seen chatting to each other for too long, especially now that the decision had been made to bring the Zero Hour forward to that night. He saw her leave through the kitchen door and walk in his direction, and this time the girl was not with her. As she approached he saw the bruise and looked away, the anger pushing up in his chest. He glanced around but there was no-one else in sight, and turned quickly to her. “We’re coming in tonight,” he informed her, and her eyes widened in surprise before it was quickly replaced with relief.  
“Okay. I have some information that may help,” she said, and relayed what she had seen about the code to the vault. “It might be something personal, so check birthdays, stuff like that.”  
He nodded, then told her what she needed to know about the plan for that night. Once he was done he stepped away, but then hesitated. “Lisbon.” She looked at him curiously and he smiled, doing his best to encourage her. “Hang in there. Just a few more hours,” he consoled, and then moved away between the trees before she could answer.  
She smiled, touched by his concern, and turned back to the house, her spirits immeasurably buoyed by the news he had given her. She had some packing to do.

_12 hours before Zero Hour  
_When Denver got back to the safe house, preparations for the heist was in full swing. People were buzzing around, checking and re-checking gear; Nairobi was wrestling with a huge piece of machinery, which he surmised was the locking mechanism of the vault, and Rio and the Professor was hunched in front of the computer, searching for any numerical sequence in Hassan’s life with the numbers nine and two in them. The Professor stood when Denver came in and gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze, but thankfully did not ask how Lisbon was. Denver didn’t have the stomach to tell him about the bruise. He joined Tokyo and Marseille to help check and load the weapons for that night, whilst Monica was setting out various sets of clothes. Half an hour later they were interrupted by a frustrated yell from Nairobi.  
“Arrgh!” She turned to Sergio. “It’s no good, Professor. The only way to open that vault is with the code and the fingerprint, or with explosives. Only problem is the amount of explosives needed will probably bring down half the house.” She ran a hand through her hair. “We need that code.”  
Sergio looked at Rio, who shook his head. “I can’t find anything – I’ve run through the birthdays of every family member, down to his fucking great-granny.”

Sergio sighed and picked up a red square of paper, and began to fold it into a crane. Carefully, precisely, he made fold after fold as he let his thoughts wander over everything he knew about Hassan. Nairobi and Rio glanced at each other, then she turned back to the vault mechanism with a shrug. She would try to figure out the smallest amount of explosive they could get away with. Ten minutes later the Professor suddenly straightened. “The Sultan of Morocco,” he said into the silence as he put down the completed crane. When Rio stared at him in confusion he added impatiently, “What was the date that the stone disappeared?”  
“Right,” Rio said and rapidly tapped on the keyboard. A slow grin began to spread across his face. “Five September 1992.”  
The Professor looked at Nairobi and she nodded in agreement. 1-9-9-2-9-5. It had to be. It was the break they needed.

_60 minutes before Zero Hour  
_Raquel had taken great care with her appearance. She had covered up the bruise on her cheek and the mark Sergio had left on her shoulder, then turned to her wardrobe. She forewent her normal demure outfits for a close-fitting summery dress with thin straps over her shoulders, and even put on the burgundy lingerie set she had packed. But she prayed fervently that Hassan would never get to see it, let alone take it off her. The transmitter was now in a clip in her hair, just in case, though. When she stepped into the dining room, bare-headed, Hassan’s gaze settled on her, heavy with lust. And all through dinner she played the game, chatting, laughing, simpering to him, knowing that Sergio was listening and hating every minute of it. It was one last hour of torture for them both to bear, and then it would hopefully be over. She somehow felt more in control of the situation without the _hijab_, that symbol of servitude, of submission, as she had come to see it. Narina was edgy; she knew that the plan was to leave that night and it affected her, which only caused her father to be more impatient with her than usual. She escaped to her room as soon as the plates were cleared, to wait; Raquel had given her strict instruction not to leave her room until she, and no-one else, came to fetch her. As soon as they were alone Raquel rose and fetched a bottle of red wine from the kitchen, and poured two glasses. She unobtrusively measured three drops of Carfentanil into one and made sure to lean over his shoulder as she put it down in front of him, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage and the burgundy bra as she did so. He licked his lips and his eyes tracked her as she went back to her own seat. She sat down and took a sip of her wine, looking at him over the rim of the glass as she did so. But to her consternation he didn’t pick up his own glass, didn’t drink any of it. Instead he stood abruptly and ordered, “Bedroom. Now.”  
_Oh, fuck_.

_tbc_


	10. Sultan

_“It was madness. Sheer lunacy. A spectacularly foolish and baseless faith, against enormous odds, that a world you do not control will not take from you the one thing you cannot bear to lose. Faith that the world will not destroy you.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed_ **

_40 minutes before Zero Hour  
_Raquel’s heart leapt into her mouth. The plan had seemed so simple; she would lead him on, but would drug his wine so that he passed out before anything could happen. Now he was changing the game completely, and she began to fear that she would have to prostitute herself after all. _No_. She couldn’t. There was a plan B, unbeknownst to Sergio, and she would have to go with that. Her eye fell on the sharp steak knife and she swallowed. Another thought came to her – what if Sergio decided to send the gang in early as a result? The security would still be in position and it would lead to a shoot-out that would needlessly put the others in danger. She cast around for a way to communicate with him, to prevent him from doing that, and all she could think of was their colour code. She could only hope that he still remembered.

The Professor and Rio were in a van about 500 metres from the compound. When Hassan summarily ordered Raquel to his bedroom Sergio jolted upright and looked around wildly. _Oh, fuck_. Did the man drink any of the wine before he did so? He had no way of knowing and almost instinctively reached for the comms.  
Rio watched him apprehensively, half-fearing that the Professor was about to storm the compound by himself to save Lisbon. Before they had left the safe house, Nairobi had taken him aside and warned him that something like this might happen.  
_“If we try to enter the place before the Security has been disabled it’ll be a bloodbath,” she concluded. “Your job is to keep the Professor in check if he loses it. Do you understand?”   
_His hand went to the butt of his gun. Shit, he really hoped it didn’t come to that.  
Lisbon’s voice came over the comms once more. “Oh, Hassan. There’s plenty of time. Don’t you like _red_ wine?”  
Sergio froze. _Red_. His thoughts went back to a conversation in a bath at the monastery before the second heist, about colour codes.  
_Red means I’m okay_.  
He pulled his hand back from the comms button and Rio breathed a sigh of relief.

Hassan’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Are you disobeying again?” he spat, and she flinched involuntarily.  
“No, no,” she said hastily. “I was merely suggesting that we take the wine with us.”  
He snatched up the glass. “All right. Let’s go.”

She grabbed her own glass and hurried after him, linking her arm with his as she caught up with him. Every touch, every look from this man felt like a violation, but she would persevere. Once they reached the bedroom she pushed him playfully towards the bed. “Why don’t you sit down, relax and have a drink?” She stepped back and winked. “Whilst I put on a show for you. I have something special under this dress that I think you’ll enjoy.”  
He grinned and then, praise God or Allah or whomever else one cared to pray to, he took a sip of the wine.

At that moment Aziza stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of glasses. They were filled with mint tea and a little something extra, and began to do the rounds to all the security guards. They thought nothing of it – she did this a few times a week, and they welcomed the refreshment. The comms crackled and Marseille’s voice came through. “Nightingale has begun her round.”  
He was perched on a nearby roof, watching the house through the telescope of a sniper’s rifle. “They’re all drinking the tea,” he reported, and the Professor and Rio shared tense but satisfied smiles.

Raquel began a slow striptease, keeping eye contact all the while. She traced her hands over her body, continuing first down one leg and then the other to remove her shoes. As she straightened up she deliberately took the dress with to give him a glimpse of her suspenders, aware of the cold steel pressing against the back of her thigh as she did so. Her hands traced back up and over her breasts before she pushed one strap off her shoulder to reveal the top of her burgundy lace bra. He took a large mouthful of the wine in response and she felt jubilant. _That’s it, you fucking asshole, drink up_. Then she turned her back and moved closer to him, looking over her shoulder. “Can you help me with the zipper?” she invited, and he grabbed her by the hips and yanked her towards him. He fumbled for it and ripped it down, not caring if he was damaging it. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut as he stood and pressed his hard-on against her, his hands coming up to grope her breasts so roughly that she had to stifle a yelp of pain. _Sergio is different. Sergio loves me, Sergio is all that matters_, she repeated over and over in her head, trying not to break, trying not to rip out the knife she had hidden in her stocking and stab him a hundred times. She disguised the whimper that escaped her as a sound of ecstasy, although she didn’t think he particularly cared. He would probably find her fear a turn-on. _Oh Christ, how much longer_…? A tear escaped and trickled over her cheek, and then she couldn’t take it anymore. She fumbled for the knife and ripped it free before violently wrenching out of his grasp and spinning round, the knife raised above her head. But just before she could plunge it into his chest he sagged down, out on his feet. She lowered the knife and pressed her free hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, and it took a good thirty seconds of deep breathing before she trusted her voice enough to speak. “Hassan is down,” she reported as she slumped onto the bed and buried her face in her trembling hands.

_Zero Hour  
_“Guards at main gate are down,” Marseille reported, and Rio and the Professor sprang into action. They had half an hour before the effect of the Carfentanil wore off. Sergio moved behind the wheel and drove up to the gate, where Rio jumped out and pushed it open. As Sergio drove inside the rest of the gang materialised from the shadows and followed the van inside with their weapons at the ready, using it as cover. Sergio drove right up to the front door, where Aziza was waiting to let them in. They rushed inside and began to round up everyone on the ground floor. Each person had been assigned two rooms to clear and they knew exactly where to go, as Lisbon had provided detailed information on where every person in that household slept. Once they had them all gathered in the kitchen Monica took up station at the door to guard them, and the rest of them hurried upstairs. They were joined by the Professor, who had a very personal reason to be directly involved in the action this time. Once they reached the door of the main suite Nairobi waved him back angrily as he tried to push past her in his anxiousness to get to Raquel, and only once she and Helsinki had taken up station on both sides of the door did she open it gingerly and peek inside. Hassan lay stretched out on the plush carpet and Raquel sat on the foot of the bed, a knife clutched in one hand. When Sergio saw her, nothing could stop him and he rushed past the others to her.

“Raquel,” he breathed, his heart breaking at the expression on her face. Frightened and bewildered, as though she wasn’t quite sure where she was. There was no blood on the knife and he breathed in relief before gently taking it from her. She had unconsciously rubbed off the concealer and the bruise on her cheek stood out angrily against her pale skin, and Sergio repressed the urge to kick the prone man in the head. Repeatedly. Her gaze latched onto his as he pulled the strap of her dress back up to cover her, and as he reached behind her to draw the zipper up she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, trembling. The others looked on in concern as Sergio wrapped her in his embrace with the utmost care and pressed his cheek against her hair.  
“You go,” he ordered, “take him and go to the vault. We’ll be along in a minute.”  
Helsinki stepped up and heaved Hassan onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift to carry him out of the room. Nairobi gave Raquel a last sympathetic smile before she followed Tokyo and the rest out.

Sergio waited until they were out of earshot before he said anything.  
“He’s gone. It’s only me. Sergio. You and me, Raquel. Only the two of us,” he murmured into her hair. “No Hassan, no Alberto. Just us.”  
And then she broke. “I couldn’t do it, Sergio. I couldn’t let him touch me. I was going to kill him,” she sobbed, and he held her tightly. “I’m so sorry. I would have fucked everything up-“  
“No.” He pulled back so he could look her in the eye. “Don’t you ever apologise for knowing your own worth,” he said heatedly, before wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t you ever apologise for not letting a man abuse you.” He blinked against his own tears. “God, Raquel, I don’t know how you managed to last all this time in this house. You are stronger and braver than anyone I know. And because of you everything is going exactly as planned. We figured out the vault’s code, and soon we’ll have the Sultan of Morocco, and then everything will be all right. Narina will be free, Maria will be free. Paula will have her friend back, all because of you.” He smiled at her crookedly. “Remember that, hmm?”  
She gulped in air in an attempt to calm down, and nodded. “I love you, Sergio,” she blurted, and his heart melted.  
“And I love you.”  
When she finally gave him a watery smile at that, he squeezed her shoulder. “I have to go to the vault now. Do you want to stay in your room until we’re ready to go?” he asked, mindful that she might not want to lay eyes on Hassan again, but she shook her head, determined.  
“I want to come with. I’m all right now,” she assured him when he hesitated, so he nodded and gripped her hand tightly as they made their way to the vault.

When they reached the gallery Nairobi had already opened the outer door with the key from Hassan’s pocket and was positioned before the key panel. “Hold that fucker ready,” she instructed over her shoulder and Denver and Helsinki heaved Hassan into an upright position next to her. Tokyo took hold of his right hand and stood ready. Nairobi glanced at the Professor, who nodded, and tapped in the code. 1-9-9-2-9-5. “Now,” she instructed, and Tokyo pressed his right thumb against the glass panel and watched the red line scan across it. For two seconds nothing happened and they began to panic, but then there was a soft buzz and a click and a green light flashed, and Nairobi spun the wheel. The door opened.  
Sergio laughed in relief and looked at Raquel. She squeezed his hand. Helsinki and Denver promptly dropped Hassan and walked inside with wide eyes. “Holy fuck,” Denver exclaimed, picking up a couple of stones from the first display. The Professor glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Let’s move,” he instructed, and the others began to gather the diamonds into bags. Sergio walked up to the plinth in the middle and gazed down at the large blue diamond. He picked it up and placed it in a special metal case, before he looked up at Raquel. “That’s it. We have the Sultan of Morocco.” She grinned at him, with what felt like the first genuine joy in weeks. Sergio grinned back. “It’s time to wake up Hassan,” he informed Tokyo, and she set to work preparing a syringe with adrenalin. Raquel turned to Sergio.  
“I’m going to collect Narina and take her downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

_Three minutes later  
_When Raquel and Narina reached the kitchen, Monica smiled at her. Raquel nodded and looked around at the members of the household, then frowned.  
“Where’s Jamima?” she asked, and Monica froze.  
“Someone’s missing?”  
“Yes. Jamima. Second bedroom on the left,” Raquel said.  
That had been one of Denver’s and Monica spoke into her comms. “Denver. Where is the occupant of the second bedroom on the left?”  
The answer came back, sounding tinny. “It was empty. I assumed she was sleeping out for the night.”  
Raquel began to shake her head almost immediately. That _idiot_. Didn’t he understand by now that no-one in this house was allowed to ‘sleep out’?! “No.” She looked at the other women. “Where is Jamima?” she asked urgently, but before anyone could answer she felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her head.  
“I’m right here, Rosa,” Jamima said. “I knew you were up to something.”

_tbc_


	11. Ghosts

_“You say you have no courage, but I see it in you. What you did, the burden you agreed to shoulder, took courage. For that, I honour you.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed_ **

_Zero Hour plus nineteen minutes  
_Raquel froze and her eyes jumped to Monica’s, who immediately lifted her rifle. But Raquel’s body screened Jamima and she didn’t have a shot. Raquel’s first thought was, _No. We’re so close_…  
“I knew you were trouble from the moment you set foot in this house,” Jamima spat. “I warned Hassan, but he wouldn’t listen,” she added, and Raquel did not miss the note of hurt in the other woman’s voice, and in a flash she understood. Jamima was in love with Hassan, inconceivable as it was that any woman could love a violent man. She urgently tried to think of a way to use that to her advantage.  
“Jamima-“  
“Shut up. Turn around,” the other woman instructed, and with a last desperate look at Monica Raquel obeyed. The first thing she saw was the ugly black eye of the gun barrel, then beyond that a face contorted with anger and triumph. And beyond that face, a glimpse of movement.  
“This won’t win you Hassan’s affection,” she told Jamima, and the older woman’s lip curled into a snarl.  
“You don’t know him,” she replied stubbornly, and Raquel laughed.  
“No?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “I know men _like_ him, believe me. I have years of first-hand experience. Look at my face, Jamima.” She pointed at the bruise that adorned her cheek. “He is a brute. He doesn’t know the meaning of love. Why would you want to help a man like that?!” Her voice had steadily risen throughout the speech as the old, buried hurts and humiliation flooded to the surface once more, and it shielded any noise Aziza might have made as she crept up behind Jamima and swung the brass tray in her hand to conk the other woman over the head. Jamima’s eyes rolled back and she fell to the ground without a sound. Raquel gave the cook a grateful look, asked her to look after Narina, then turned and sprinted back upstairs. There was only ten minutes left.

Hassan came to and shook his head groggily. It felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool and he struggled to remember where he was and what he was doing. It slowly came back – Rosa, the burgundy underwear, her soft breasts in his hands… The wine. The woozy feeling. Blacking out. That duplicitous bitch. He made to jump to his feet but he couldn’t move and when he looked down he saw that he was bound to a chair. He blinked and when he lifted his gaze once more, he realised that someone was sitting on another chair in front of him. A man in an unfashionable suit. Beard. Glasses. What can only be described as a murderous expression on his face. “What the fuck is this?” Hassan rasped as a woman came into view, an automatic rifle in her hands.  
“Are you comfy?” Tokyo asked, leaning down into his face. “No? Tsk. What a pity, you fucking scumbag.”  
Sergio caught her eye and jerked his head and she backed off, leaving the two men to stare at each other until Hassan’s attention was drawn away by Rosa’s entrance into the room. She walked over and took up station behind the strange man, and rested her hand on his right shoulder.

Only then did the man speak. “You have taken things that don’t belong to you,” he said as he held up a stone, and Hassan’s heart began to hammer in his chest. It was the pride of his collection, the Sultan of Morocco. “Not only have you stolen this diamond,” Sergio continued, “you have also stolen a child from her mother.”  
Hassan found his voice at that. “She is my daughter. Her mother stole her from this house in the first place. I only took back-“  
“No.” There was cold anger in Sergio’s voice. “You forfeited any claim to your child when you beat her mother.” He half-turned his head toward Raquel and she squeezed his shoulder in response. He wiggled the stone and it caught the light, drawing the attention of the Moroccan back to it. “This diamond is known as the Sultan of Morocco,” he said and Hassan’s heart sank. _They knew_. “Your cousin, King Mohammed VI, has had feelers out in the diamond underworld for years, looking for it. Because it belonged to his forefathers once, a long time ago.”

Hassan closed his eyes.  
“And all this time it was right here in Morocco, under his nose,” the Professor continued mercilessly. “In _your _collection.” He looked up at Raquel and she shook her head at such stupidity. “What do you think the King will do once he finds out _you_, his own cousin, have had it all along?” Sergio smirked, he was enjoying himself. “Would you say the King was a forgiving sort of man, Hassan?”  
The blood had drained from Hassan’s face as he stared at the stranger in front of him. The King was anything but forgiving; those who had displeased him in the past were either rotting in jail or dead. He felt a shiver run down his spine and it unsettled him greatly; he was not a man used to being afraid. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We are leaving this house with Narina and all your diamonds, including the Sultan of Morocco. And you will keep your mouth shut about it, or we will tell the King where the diamond has been for the last twenty years. But most important of all, Hassan, you will stay away from your ex-wife and Narina. If you ever so much as look at them, or even send someone else to look at them, we will tell the King about the Sultan.” He nodded towards Rio, who was filming the conversation. “Say you understand.”  
Hassan swallowed, defeated. “I understand.”  
Sergio stood and slipped the Sultan back into the metal case. “Good.” He turned to the others. “Let’s go.”  
But Raquel didn’t immediately follow; she had one last thing to do. She stepped up to the man that had haunted her for the last ten days and stared down at him. He shrunk back at the pure unadulterated hatred in her expression. The shoe was now on the other foot – he was at her mercy, and he didn’t like the feeling at all.  
“Raquel,” Sergio called from the door but she ignored him. Instead she drew back her arm and slapped Hassan as hard as she could. Behind her Nairobi and Tokyo grinned in satisfaction. “That’s for all the women you have abused, you piece of shit,” she hissed, before turning on her heel and striding past Sergio, head held high.

As they came down the stairs Aziza stood by the front door, holding Narina by the hand. She smiled at Raquel before bending down to hug the girl. “Goodbye, little one. Say hello to your Mama from me.”  
Raquel halted and Sergio stopped as well, hovering anxiously by her elbow. She was unexpectedly choked up as she looked at the cook, who had provided her not only with help, but also with compassion when she had needed it most.  
“Come with us,” she offered, but Aziza smiled and shook her head.  
“Thank you, but no. My life is here,” she said placidly, and Raquel stepped forward and embraced her.  
“I can never thank you adequately for everything you’ve done, but-” She looked at Sergio, who pressed a thick envelope into the cook’s hand. “If you ever need anything, there are instructions in there on how to contact us.”  
Aziza nodded, moved, and remained standing in the open door whilst they all piled into the van and drove off. When she checked the envelope later in the privacy of her room there was a small business card with a phone number and the word “Nightingale” printed below it. There was also half a million Euros, and she stared at it in astonishment. Then she began to smile. It was enough for her to leave that house forever and to start that bakery she had always dreamt of.

_Zero hour plus forty minutes  
_A charter plane waited for them at the private airfield, and it was only once they had left Moroccan airspace that Raquel felt she could relax. Monica and Denver had appropriated Narina and was entertaining her a few seats in front, and she was grateful. She was emotionally drained, and the only thing she desired was to be close to Sergio. Her cheek still throbbed where Hassan had slapped her; she wasn’t sure whether that was because it really still hurt, or from the psychological scars it had opened once again. Tokyo came down the aisle and hesitated when she drew level with Raquel. When Raquel looked up at her she nodded, just once, and said respectfully, “Good job, Lisbon,” before moving off. It brought a small smile to Raquel’s face.

A few minutes later Sergio slid into the seat next to her. “Hey,” he said, and she gave him a wan smile.  
“Hey.”  
“How are you?”  
“I don’t know,” she confessed, looking down at her hands, feeling like a failure. She should be stronger than this; she should not be so affected by one smack. How many had she endured in her life? What’s one more?  
Sergio watched her, a furrow of concern between his eyes. He could see that she was busy tying herself into knots, so he reached out and touched her hand. “Can I hold you?” he asked and smiled self-deprecatingly when she lifted her gaze to his, trying to mask her relief at the request with a lift of an eyebrow. “I know you don’t need it,” he lied, “but I certainly do,” and she had to blink against the sudden build-up of tears. He lifted his arm and she burrowed into his side, pressing her face into his shoulder, and he pretended not to feel her shudders as she silently wept into his shirt. But he held her tightly and stroked her hair, and it was exactly what she needed. Even as the tears fell she kept telling herself: Sergio was a wonderful man, _her_ wonderful man, and she would be all right. Eventually. Once her tears dried up she fell into exhausted slumber, still cocooned in his embrace.

She slept through the flight, the stress and emotion of the operation catching up with her. She only woke once they landed in Palawan, blinking blearily into the early morning light that streamed through the windows of the plane. Despite the hours of sleep she still felt bone-achingly weary, as though she had performed some herculean feat, like running a marathon or something equally physically taxing, and she understood then the terrible toll the operation had taken on her. Her cheek throbbed once more, vindictively reminding her of the physical abuse she had suffered, and she clutched Sergio’s hand to reassure herself. She was with him; she was safe. Neither Alberto nor Hassan knew where she was. When they stepped off the plane Maria was waiting, and the sight of Narina running into her mother’s arms made the whole ordeal worthwhile. The gang shared satisfied smiles, aware that they had done a good thing - that in this instance the end justified the means without any doubt. It filled them with warmth and the satisfaction of a job well done.

_Zero Hour plus one month  
__Palawan  
_Raquel walked out onto the porch to find Sergio sitting on the step, staring out at the ocean. “Is she still out there?” she asked in surprise and he looked up at her with a grin.  
“Yes.”  
She followed his gaze to see Paula rowing to and fro in her new canoe. “Why haven’t you called her in? She’s been out there for hours.”  
“Oh, leave her. It’ll be dark soon and then she’ll have to come in anyway – a few more minutes won’t hurt.”  
“Hah,” she exclaimed and he turned to her.  
“What?”  
“That kid has you wrapped around her little finger, mister,” she scolded, but there was no malice to it and her hand burrowed into his hair to further soften the words. He loved her daughter, and she loved _him_ all the more because of it.  
He smiled guiltily. “It’s her birthday,” he protested weakly, “that should be the one day when a person is allowed to do whatever they want, isn’t it?”  
“Uh-huh,” she teased, seeing right through him, and he took hold of her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap. She stared into his eyes lovingly, her hand caressing his cheek. “Thank you.” He was so wonderful. How did she get this lucky?  
“You’re welcome. For what?”  
She laughed. “For Paula’s gift. And for the last month.” She caressed him again. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you.” And then she kissed him, and it was a kiss that held the promise of more to come.

Ever since their return from Morocco she had been all over the place emotionally. She had found it hard to adjust, to forget what had happened. Many a night she woke in a cold sweat, gripped with fear after dreams haunted by abusive men. A few times she had been so disoriented that she had struck out at Sergio when he tried to soothe her, and that only brought feelings of terrible guilt that she did not know how to overcome and caused her to avoid him for days. She was constantly on edge; flinching whenever someone made a sudden movement in her vicinity, and her poor loving husband had borne the brunt of it. He walked on eggshells around her, ever mindful of his words and deeds, and it must have been exhausting. She was perpetually apologising and he was repeatedly telling her that she didn’t need to, and it felt like they were on a merry-go-round from which there was no escape. It had even affected their intimate moments; she found it hard to abandon herself to their love making, and as a result struggled to reach orgasm. That led to a build-up of tension that made her snap at him unnecessarily for the stupidest reasons, which, once again, would lead to feelings of guilt. It was a vicious circle that she found herself unable to break free from.

Sergio had been amazingly understanding, not once getting angry or upset at the unfair treatment he received. He suffered her moods without complaint; when she needed reassurance he was there to hold her or to make love to her, and when she pushed him away he would leave her be. There were no barbed comments, no sulking, no reproaches. He was simply _there_, a source of comfort and support throughout, and it helped her to slowly find her way back to her normal self. And that morning, when he had proudly presented Paula with the canoe and had then endured the house being overrun by a bunch of twelve-year olds without complaint, even taking them out for canoe trips for hours on end, it was as though a switch flipped in her brain. Here, with Sergio, she was safe. This was her life now, her reality, and here there was nothing to fear. She was loved unconditionally by a man who would never hurt her intentionally, physically or psychologically. She could lay the ghosts of the past to rest once more. And so she’d decided – she would make it up to him.

Later that night, when the house was quiet and the birthday girl happily in dreamland, Raquel took Sergio by the hand and led him along the beach to their sailboat. As they approached it, she pressed a remote and the _Hanoi_ lit up with a hundred fairy lights she had strung all over it earlier that day. Sergio stopped in his tracks and stared, before turning to her.  
“What’s this?”  
She gazed up at him, at the lights reflecting in his glasses and the warmth in his eyes behind them, and raised up on tiptoe to kiss him. He held back, waiting to see where she was taking this, and she knew his reticence was the result of what she had put him through the last month. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and he opened them with a suppressed groan, and she pushed inside to stroke against his. To taste him, to devour him, to enjoy him, as she used to do before Morocco. His arms wrapped around her and he lifted her, one hand slipping down to support her buttocks and to press her against him. They kissed feverishly, sucking at each other’s tongues, breathing in each other’s air. She could feel him harden against her, and wiggled until she could wedge his length between her thighs, against the wetness that was beginning to seep through her underwear and thin summer dress. When they eventually broke apart to gasp in some air, she answered the question he had asked an age ago.  
“This is me telling you I’m all right now,” she said, running a hand through his hair, and he gripped her even tighter and carried her the rest of the way to the boat.

She wrapped her legs and arms around him, and amused herself by licking at his neck and sucking on his earlobe until he stepped over the rail, and then she trailed one hand down his back and shoved it into his pants to fondle his butt. He almost dropped her.  
“Fuck, Raquel,” he moaned, and she grinned at him flirtatiously.  
“Yes please, let’s fuck,” she echoed, and they laughed together, both relieved to have the playful side of their relationship back. She let her feet drop to the ground and began to work on his shirt buttons as they kissed once more, and they left a trail of clothes across the deck and to the wheelhouse as they made for one of their favourite places to make love. By the time he lifted her onto the pilot chair they were both naked, and then there was no more talking as he buried himself inside her and proceeded to drive the last echoes of those ghosts from her mind for good.  
Three mind-blowing times.

And when they were finally sated and she lay cradled in his arms down in the cabin, there was only one thought that circled her head as she began to succumb to sleep: Yes, she was all right now.

_Fin_

_“I will use a flower petal for paper,  
_ _And write you the sweetest letter,  
_ _You are the sultan of my heart,_  
_Sultan of my heart.”  
_ ** _Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
